


B̵̦̺̠̱̻̟͕͎͍̬͊̏̄̀́̽e̷̢̻͖̹̳̝̖͙̞̓̏̊̎͆͢l̶̹͙̥̻̗̲̝̃̓́̕͘͡ḯ͕̤̜̝̦̠̤͒̔̓̀̓̈́̑̕ė̶̢̛͉̳̞̦̥̓̀̈͜͞f̶̛̣̫͈̳͖̦͌̊̔̏̔̈ [Belief]

by sepiapages



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: ????? i don't know how to tag this, Blackouts, Death, Demons, F/M, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Memory Loss, Mental Health Issues, Mild Gore, Psychosis, Self-Harm, Technology doesn't cooperate, Torture, YouTube, jacksepticeye - Freeform, mental demons materializing to torment a smol irish bean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-09-17 01:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 28,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9298898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sepiapages/pseuds/sepiapages
Summary: There's an age-old belief that if you think of something too often, it becomes real.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first Jackaboy fic but the Anti event this October was too inspirational to not write about. idk!! this is shitty and angsty af. hopefully you enjoy.

It had snowed in Ireland. The little country usually only got an inch or two, but this time was different. Jack woke up to see mountains of snow disappearing into the distance. The streets below his apartment windows were covered in the white blanket, footprints deeper than he could judge visible along the sidewalks. The roads hadn’t been plowed because of the half-assed public service that really only existed in Dublin. 

Not usually being an early riser because of his late sleeping schedule, Jack realized he’d been woken by the chill of the sudden midnight storm. He had been up late scrolling through fan art and comments the night before; there had been an interesting increase in talk about the community character Anti and he'd stayed up to think about it and see people’s thoughts, theories, and ideas. Planning for next Halloween could never be too early. Still, he decided to take advantage of the newfound daylight hours (despite only having a few hours of sleep, but sleep was for the weak anyway) and bundled up in whatever snow gear he could find.

He waddled out into the frigid air dressed in two layers of pants, two thick shirts, the warmest jacket he could find, and a beanie to cover his green head. He only had his usual shoes on, but had decided against wearing oven mitts. 

It was freezing. The temperature must have been far below zero and he was thankful for his preparation, even if it was a little embarrassing. He tromped around in the snow, energy surging as he leapt with both feet into a snowbank. The cold seeped through his layers and made him shiver. He leaned back to rest against the pile of snow and listen to the dead silence surrounding him. The streets were empty, there were no birds to be found, and the sky was grey. Even for him, the loudest YouTuber yet, the silence was interesting, almost comforting. He felt like the air was pressing into his skin and holding him there, his lungs heavier and his limbs numb; he almost wanted it to swallow him up.

Through the silence, a dull noise seemed to begin reverberating through his skull, or his whole body; he couldn’t tell. It sounded like a low hum of static. His eyes fell closed and he lost track of time as the hum grew louder and his body felt like it was floating. Softly, indistinctly, a voice weaved through the static. It whispered, sitting right behind his head,  **_I’m coming._ **

Jack jerked straight up. His heart pounded and he looked around for the source, but found no one. He took a few deep breaths and caught a few stray snowflakes on his tongue to shake the anxiety. 

His fingers were shaky, tinged blue, and lacking feeling, his nose was a red block of ice, and his toes may have well have not existed. It was time to go home.

He traded the layers of now-cold and wet clothes for a pile of blankets and a warm cup of coffee. He felt exhausted, though. “I have videos to record,” he murmured to himself. “I can’t be tired already.”

He downed another cup of coffee, practiced some vocal warmups and bounced around a bit to get his blood flowing and his fingers moving again. Then he sprang into action, throwing all the energy he had (however unsettlingly low it was that day) into the videos. “To make people laugh,” he told himself. “It’s not for me, it’s for them.” 

The products were unsurprisingly not his best. He kept coughing throughout the recording sessions, and his fingers were still shaky, resulting in suboptimal gameplay. Then, as he brought the second video to a close, a headache pierced his skull and a wild thought panicked that it would split. He winced through the outro and shut the equipment off as soon as he finished, slamming his hands down on the desk, not including a post-credits clip like usual.

“Ah, fuck,” he hissed, a grimace twisting on his face. He grabbed at his head and leaned forward, trying to quell the pain. His vision swam and his head throbbed. Disoriented, he tensed too much and began falling off his chair, hitting his cheek on the desk. Before he lost consciousness, he heard the voice again, distant and ambiguous. 

**_Closer…_ **


	2. Chapter 2

Jack woke up to a pulsating pain in his head as well as the rest of his body. He blinked a few times to clear his fuzzy vision and squinted from the light shining into his eyes. His studio light was above him. He was on the floor, his hip protesting in pain. 

“Shit… What was that?” Even his voice felt raw and broken.

He slowly propped himself up and checked for injuries: there were definitely bruises, lots of them, but nothing broken that he could detect. He climbed up to sit back in the chair and rotated his hips to get rid of the stiffness. “God, how long was I out?” he mused. 

After stretching and feeling slightly more capable of functioning without passing out again, Jack ventured to stand up. He took gentle steps toward the bathroom, tense and unsure as his whole body seemed to buzz. His head throbbed a little as he turned on the light. Unsettlingly, the light bulb seemed to be flickering and making a noise like the static from the voice.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jack grumbled, resting his hands on the counter. The smooth ceramic surface cooled his palms.

He ignored the unsteady light source and looked into the mirror to assess his facial damage. Involuntarily, he gasped at the sight. Already, a purple bruise had begun to spread across his cheekbone. He opened and closed his jaw to judge how bad it was. That didn’t hurt too badly, he decided, and he couldn’t see anything bleeding or feel anything broken, so he’d live to see another day. 

“Jesus,” he breathed, leaning closer to his reflection. “What’s going on?” He pressed his fingers around the bruises and messed around for a while, almost hoping enough poking and prodding would fix it. With a sigh, he dropped his hands and leaned back. 

Suddenly, the light bulb began flickering more rapidly. Jack’s head snapped up. Fizzling noises filled the silence and the light blinked in and out of darkness until finally sputtering and going out with a large, bright spark. Jack flinched. He recoiled as a burning smell permeated the room and he backed out the door.

“God dammit!” he cried, exasperated. A thin smoke trail trickled out of the bathroom, creeping along the ceiling. Jack threw the door shut and fell against it. He was too tired to deal with this.

His gaze drifted up to his whiteboard. “Be more positive!” it told him, his own handwriting, his own voice. He sighed. That seemed a bit impossible, or at least out of reach at the moment, no matter how much he wanted it. He couldn’t let the viewers down by being negative. He was supposed to be a  _ happy  _ thing in their lives, something to lift them up, not worry them and bring them down.

He balled his fists. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got this.”

The green-haired gamer, now filled with determination, hauled himself into the kitchen and fixed a late lunch of an over-easy egg and a sandwich. It was made without incident and he sat down to eat it confidently. Full and ready to get over the strange episodes of the day, Jack finished and cleaned up and wandered back into the main room, trying to decide what to do.

“I never sent the files to Robin,” he realized. He stood still. His feet felt bolted to the ground. “I… I should do that,” he said firmly. 

His limbs responded at last and he made his way to his computer desk.  _ Why did that happen?  _ Jack shook his head, regretted the action, and moved on to the task at hand. 

He reached over and turned on the computer. The lights turned on, but a black screen greeted him. “What?” He clicked the mouse and pressed as many buttons as he could think of that might bring it to life. “Come on!” At his shout, miraculously, the screen blinked to life. The low hum of static returned to his ears and the hairs on his neck rose. 

“What is going  _ on _ today?” he exclaimed, trying to beat the static. Besides, speaking out loud made it less silent in the house. With Signe away visiting family, it was empty and lonely and Jack eagerly awaited her return, now more than ever.

As the computer booted up, Jack realized he’d never shut it down. “What’s wrong with you?” He reached out and placed his hand on the edge of the monitor as if hoping for a response or to comfort the machine. He didn’t know what he was doing. Logic seemed to be out the window that day. 

The familiar desktop image appeared before him and he wiggled his mouse to check how it was working. Before he could click the web browser, the static suddenly increased and the computer joined in on the noise, emitting a consistent hum of harsher static telling Jack that it was not going to be working properly today. “Fucking hell!” he cried, trying to shake the anxiety flooding his veins. “Come  _ on!” _

Instead of returning to normal, the screen began to glitch. The pixels broke into irregular, random rectangles and colors inverted, separated, flickered. The whole screen shifted, unresponsive to Jack’s attempts to reign in the chaos. 

The static grew louder, eventually almost deafening the desperate Irishman. He felt dizzy and feared that he was going to fall again. He abandoned his efforts to fix the computer and braced his arms against the desk, leaning over to support his weight. He shook and tears rose to his eyes but wouldn’t fall. The computer continued to freak out and the static grew, causing his headache to swell and torture him. 

“No…” he groaned, his hands gripping the desk with white knuckles. “God, no…”

Through the static, the wicked, distorted voice came through again. It seemed to surround him, wiggling its way through each wave of static and his piercing migraine. It seemed to be laughing, low and breathy. **_I am near._ **


	3. Chapter 3

Sometime through the ordeal, Jack had passed out. This time, however, he found himself still leaning over the desk with no more injuries than the last time. (Had that really been only earlier that day?) His head still ached, but it was only the residual throbbing from the initial infliction. 

Slowly, he went through the process again and brought himself to sit up. He felt close to tears. He felt overwhelmed, confused, and a little afraid. “I need to go to bed,” he told himself.

He still had no idea how long he had been passed out, but a glance out the window told him it was late enough. The sun settled behind the hills and turned the sky a bloody red. 

“Forget dinner, I’m done with today.” He carried his battered body to his bedroom and dressed in his pajamas. When he lay down in bed, a blinking light caught his eye. Instinctively, he flinched, remembering the other malevolent lights that day. It was only his phone alerting him to missed messages. He reached far over to the little table, grimacing through the irritated bruises, and unlocked the phone.

_ (2) New messages from Robin. _

hey, you never sent me videos today. did something happen?  _ (5:34 pm) _

or no, did you edit them yourself? you didn’t mention it, so i just assumed…  _ (5:35 pm) _

Sean, are you okay? _ (6:15 pm) _

Jack groaned and fell back into the pillows. He would have to edit them himself. It was too late for Robin—he wouldn’t do that to his friend. “So much for sleep,” he muttered. 

hey, sorry. I’m okay. something weird happened today. I’ll get the videos myself.  _ (sent 7:48 pm) _

With another sigh, Jack got out of bed and padded into the kitchen. He made a cup of coffee to get himself going and went into the main room. He eyed the computer warily. He still had no idea what was happening, but he knew in his gut that it wasn’t good. As he carefully sat down in the chair and gulped down the coffee, he ran over the events in his head. 

He’d woken up with a strange feeling clouding his mind and his body. He’d figured it was just morning grogginess and it would dissipate as the day went on. Then he’d gone outside into the strangely heavy snow and felt compelled to collapse in a pile. He’d almost expected to stay there forever, dissolve into the wind and float away. Then the first incident happened with the headache, the collapsation, the noise, the light bulb… Now this. And each time, there had been that  _ voice.  _ It seemed vaguely familiar, and it unnerved him.

He sat heavily in the chair, not moving to turn it on and begin the work. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the desk. His head felt as though it weighed ten times more and his lungs felt like they were filled with cotton. Something definitely wasn’t right. Whether it was exterior or interior, he wasn’t sure. 

Jack continued to replay what he could remember of the voice over and over in his mind. Then he huffed and sat upright, trying to find the determination that had fallen so far inside himself. He would get this done. There was no reason he couldn’t.

Tentatively, he reached to turn the computer on. He narrowed his eyes, expecting the same glitched reaction, but instead he saw the familiar startup screen. Though he wasn’t about to trust it as completely back in order, he was grateful for it functioning properly again.

“I hope I saved the fuckin’ things,” he uttered, clicking to open his files. He scrolled through and found the last two videos saved. He glanced at the time stamp on the last one. 3:43 pm. That was when he'd collapsed. He estimated he’d been passed out for a while, maybe a whole hour. Then he’d woken up and wandered around for about half an hour or so, resulting in it being almost 5:30 when he’d attempted to use his computer again and been attacked.

_ Attacked?  _ Was that really what was happening? Jack didn’t know how far off the description might have been.

It seemed he’d been out for longer the second time around; about two hours had passed before he got up and recovered enough to attempt to go to bed. It was 8 o’clock now and he looked solemnly out the window at the darkened sky. It was going to be a long night, and certainly wasn’t going to help his worsening condition.

Jack set in and began editing. Even his own boisterous energy put him off and he had to turn the volume down to be able to finish. Thankfully, the videos had been ones that would be left mostly uncut and had been only about half an hour each. Then he came to the end of the second video at the part where his headache had split his skull. He watched as he flinched in massive pain on camera and nearly fallen onto the desk immediately. However, something wasn’t right. His stomach dropped in horror as the familiar static permeated the audio and he saw the footage distort, twist, break,  _ glitch.  _ A malicious grin appeared on camera-Jack’s face for the blink of an eye and disappeared. 

The footage stopped rolling. Jack pushed away from the desk, heart pounding. The static filled his head and his stomach felt nauseous. He ripped the headphones off his head and pressed his hands against his ears, shutting his eyes tight and choking back a sob. 

“No!  _ Stop it!” _ he cried, feeling dizzy and fearing that he was going to black out again.

The static ceased. Distantly, soft, cold laughter tickled the back of his neck. His blood froze. He breathed heavily, lowering his hands and looking in every direction. The room was empty, the computer screen black, only the light beside him turned on. 

“Anti…?” he whispered, feeling stupid but horrifyingly sure he wasn’t wrong.

This wasn’t right. It was the middle of January 2017; Antisepticeye’s event was over. Halloween was over. October was gone. He hadn’t been editing any of the trademark glitches or audio in, and Robin certainly hadn’t either. But here he unmistakably was, real and threatening Jack’s sanity.


	4. Chapter 4

The room was dark, even with the lamp on right next to the lanky Irishman. For the first time, he was almost sure he’d been sweating. He shakily opened the video again and spent twenty minutes trying to find the source of and remove the “Anti moment” but it wasn’t in the audio track and it wasn’t in any of the visual frames. It was just… there. He’d play it, and there it was. There  _ he _ was.

He gave up. He closed the files and set them to upload into YouTube for the rest of the night (what was left of it) and headed back to bed. He climbed in and wrapped himself up as tightly as he could, pressing his head into the pillow as if it would prevent Anti from invading his mind again. His muscles began to scream in protest at the continued tension that made him ache as the night dragged on and his body wouldn’t fall asleep.

Jack tossed and turned, his bones buzzing with anxiety and his body shaky and his mind unsettled and uncertain. More time ticked by, and it felt as if with every breath he took, the more his lungs filled and filled and wouldn’t exhale. The pressure increased. He couldn’t take it much longer. 

He gasped. Rapid, panicked feet kicked away the blankets and his fingers became crooks that clawed at his throat, desperate for release, relaxation,  _ air.  _ He pulled his shirt off with a harsh yank and threw it off the bed, panting. Soon, his vision cleared and his breathing began to return to normal. 

“Oh, god,” he whined. What was happening to him?

He could still hear the voice echoing in the back of his mind if he drifted off too far. He had to distract himself, no matter how essential sleep was.

His phone sat readily on his side table. He picked it up and unlocked it, welcoming the new focal point. He opened his messages and selected Robin, rubbing his eyes and sighing. 

               you were always the one to add Anti stuff right?  _ (Sent 12:46 am)  _

               like… nothing ever showed up before you edited. no glitches were already there.  _ (Sent 12:47 am) _

Robin wouldn’t be awake at this hour, Jack knew, but he still waited anxiously, staring at the screen and tapping it to keep it awake for a few more minutes (too many minutes) before putting it down and trying to decide what to do.

His laptop was across the room charging. Jack threw the blankets off and dragged his feet as he made his way over and replaced the laptop in the chair. With a fanbase at over 14 million subscribers, there would always be someone up to talk to him. At least with lack of sleep he could get more work done. There were plenty of new comments on his last few videos and he jumped right into the fray. Most were positive comments saying how much they laughed or how silly he looked or acted at one point. Some were more negative, saying they didn’t like something or thought he should play another game. The occasional mindless hater passed by but Jack easily skipped over them. 

There were always the stories. People would dump paragraphs about their life and their minds in the comments for anyone and everyone to see, hoping Jack would too. He read through a few, wiping some tears at some and eventually becoming filled with gratitude and love for what he had. In that moment, he was good enough and always would be. In that moment, the events of the day hadn’t happened. Anti didn’t exist, and Jack was fine, and he was worth what he’d worked for. 

Soon, his eyes grew heavy. No matter how anxious and restless he was, his body would naturally remind him he really did need sleep. 

He closed his laptop and climbed back into bed. The house was silent. He was alone. He was safe. Tomorrow was another day and he would conquer it with his usual energy and positivity and kindness. Sleep was now. Whatever was happening could wait. 

Yes, Anti would wait.


	5. playlist

_Belief_   


"Let Them In" - PVRIS  
"Two Evils" - Bastille  
"White Noise" - PVRIS  
"The Draw" - Bastille  
"Ice Cave" - The Maine  
"Semi-Automatic" - Twenty One Pilots  
"Not Today" - Twenty One Pilots  
"Empty" - PVRIS

[[listen](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLr9HZlYqPjNM1afJXE5KSZJPkG_ftKQUK)]

extra: "St. Patrick" by PVRIS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also: ANTI'S BACK!!!! it's actually scary how close the real world has been to my fic lately...


	6. Chapter 4.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all the walls are caving in  
> and I feel you entering  
> I shouldn't give in  
> but I let you win  
> I let you in

_ He was in a dark room. There was just enough light to tell that there were walls around him. The walls were close. Dark grey, smooth, cold. The room was empty. Absolutely nothing adorned the walls or the floor and the only color was the green hair atop the head of the thin, shaking man in the middle. _

_ His clothes were black. His skin was grey. If he had a mirror, he’d have seen that his eyes had lost their color as well.  _

_ He was as empty as the room he was in.  _ ****

**_Disappointment._ **

_ The words dripped from an unseen mouth, falling like a rain of daggers. The voice echoed off the blank walls and seemed to cause the air to grow thicker. _

**_Worthless._ **

_ The pressure grew. The man fell to the floor and wrapped his arms around himself in defense. “Please…” he croaked, his voice nearly gone. _

**_Failure._ **

_ His bones ached. His head suffered. He dragged himself across the floor, desperate to find an escape. At the front of the room, he hit a panel of glass. It was curved and thick.  _

**_Selfish._ **

_ “Hello?” he wheezed. “Help me.” His hands weakly hit the glass. He squinted and peered through. There seemed to be an enormous keyboard lying just beyond the limits of the room. A chair loomed farther on.  _

**_Embarrassing._ **

_ A man approached. He was dressed in black with hair like the trapped man’s, but it was darker. A sickly green. A dying green.  _

**_Useless._ **

_ The tiny figure hit the glass with what was left of his strength as it seeped away into the ever-thickening air. He opened his mouth but his voice had been taken from him. The giant grinned with pointed teeth and the glass disappeared, surrounding the broken figure in darkness. _

**_Dead._ **


	7. Chapter 5

It seemed as if nothing had changed since he’d gone to bed when Jack gasped and nearly fell out of his bed. His breathing was shallow, quick, panicked. He righted his balance and clutched his neck, trying to remember how to breathe. 

“No, no, no, no, no, no…” he mumbled, over and over. 

His lungs gradually forgot their alarm and his breathing slowed to a pace that was more reasonable. Jack hastily small wiped tears that squeezed out of his tired eyes. “Are you done yet?” he bellowed into the night. “This is fucking  _ insane!”  _ he screamed, his voice cracking. His desperation was clear. 

The energy spent on the outburst and the panic attack was enough to gently lower him back to sleep. A small mercy for the long battle of strength of mind and soul.

For the first time in many months, Jack slept through the day. He slept through the morning, past the sun’s peak, and into the afternoon. His body and mind were tired and his soul was grateful for the long rest. However, when he woke to see the late sun peeking through his window, he groaned. The events of the night seemed worlds away as he rose and dressed himself and ventured into the kitchen to make a meal. 

He sat slumped in his chair and pawed through his memory to come up with a sane explanation for what was happening. “Am I going crazy?” He ran a hand through his hair and tugged on it. The dream could have been just a dream, of course, but he couldn’t deny how real the voices had seemed, or the computer attacks. Still, Antisepticeye couldn’t be real. He was a fan-made character! Fictional! 

Yet here he was.

Jack sighed. Nothing had happened all day except for the nightmare, so he let himself hope that it was over. Robin had responded to him earlier that day. 

               yeah, of course. you sure ur okay?  _ (7:24 am) _

He didn’t know what to say. No, he wasn’t okay. He’d been happy before, and he’d been sad, very sad. His years before YouTube were definitely not his best. Now he felt himself returning to a numb state, curling inside himself to combat the confusion and fear he felt. He didn’t like it. He wanted this to be over so he could return to his better self, the lighter, happier,  _ livelier _ self that brought joy to people’s lives.

Right now, he was being haunted by something he wasn’t even sure was real. 

               I guess I could use some time to talk. are you free for a video chat later?  _ (sent 2:47 pm) _

He didn’t like to bring his friends down, but he knew he had to take care of himself. Talking about it would help. Robin would reassure him it wasn’t possible and everything would go back to normal. 

Robin answered quickly. Maybe he was more concerned about his friend than Jack had thought. 

               yeah, just give me 10 minutes.  _ (2:49 pm) _

Jack bit his lip and fought the voice nagging at him that he was distracting, annoying Robin. It had never been this loud. It had an unfamiliar edge to it, too; as if someone was trying to impersonate him in his own head. 

“Shit.” His stomach dropped. Was Anti in his head now too? Was he the source of all these negative thoughts? His breathing picked up again and he pulled at his hair. “Get out of my head!” he cried, stumbling. “Leave me alone!” He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be shouting at nothing or if he wanted the threat to be real so he could assure himself he hadn’t gone  _ that _ far.

A shiver crept up his spine as the subtle laughter rippled through the air again. It sounded as if it was both inside and outside his head, drowning his logical thoughts fighting the attack. He fell to the floor and curled up in a ball, feeling vulnerable and small. “What’s happening? Where did you come from?”

The laughter increased to a genuinely amused cackle. The hairs on Jack’s neck prickled as the voice whispered in his ear,  **_I’m you, Jackaboy._ **

Jack pressed his hands into the sides of his head as hard as he could. “You can’t be me! I’d never hurt anyone!”

**_Oh, but I am. You believed in me, so here I am._ **

It was so clear. He was getting stronger. Jack dropped his hands and clenched his fists. He shakily stood up and shouted, “Fuck off! You’re not real!” 

**_Then who are you talking to?_ **

The computer across the room flickered on and began emitting angry noises, the screen flashing and glitching. The lights flickered and smoke rose from the outlets. Jack feared his house would burst into flames. Before he could react, the ringing static was back, harsher than ever, and his head felt close to bursting. He screamed in agony and fell to his knees, covering his head with his arms. The pain overtook him and once again he fell unconscious.


	8. Chapter 6

He was getting tired of this, physically and mentally. Passing out three times within the last two days was too much. When Jack woke back up, he saw only a half an hour had passed. “I guess Anti didn’t want waste any time he could be using to torture me,” he muttered. Then he bit his lip and sat quietly for a moment, waiting anxiously for the demon to return.

Nothing happened. Jack took the chance to slowly unfurl himself and exercise his sore muscles. “I left Robin hanging,” he said, disappointed. A few minutes of stretching felt like enough for him to be able to get up without collapsing again. His head hurt like a bitch, still throbbing with the echoes of the attack. 

As much as he wanted to bite insults at the demon he knew was waiting for his next shot at the weakened boy, Jack knew enough to shut up for once. 

After a cold glass of water and a moment’s pause to concentrate on his breathing, attempting to calm down while listening to a recording of rain, he grabbed his phone to check what had happened to Robin. 

_ (3) New messages from Robin. _

               okay I’m free you ready?  _ (2:58 pm) _

               you there?  _ (3:05 pm) _

               Sean is something going on? I’m getting a bit worried  _ (3:12 pm) _

He really didn’t like what was happening, but there wasn’t much he could help if there really was a demon running around, come alive from the fictional digital world. He just hoped Robin would have some words of comfort or an explanation to all of this.

               I’m so sorry. I’m gonna have to explain in video. Are you still free?  _ (Sent 3:42 pm) _

It was getting late. He wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to record videos. His heart sunk at the thought, but he couldn’t imagine carrying on like everything wasn’t crashing around him. He sighed and pulled at his hair again, rubbing his face. “I’ve got to record  _ something.  _ A vlog or something… to explain,” he mused, determined to attempt at least something to keep his schedule in tact. 

He set up the cameras, singing out loud to himself every song he could think of as a sort of defense against an attack. If it wasn’t silent, Anti might not come back. He wished Signe would come back. 

Robin answered his text just as he finished setting up. 

               yeah of course. I’m here for you.  _ (4:12 pm) _

               I’ll log on and wait for you  _ (4:13 pm) _

Jack smiled at his phone. He’d made good friends. Someday he would repay Robin for how great he’d been for him over the past year. 

               gotcha  _ (Sent 4:14 pm) _

He grabbed his laptop from his room and opened Skype to see Robin’s little green circle that filled him with relief. Maybe now things could start to get sorted. 

“Hey,” he greeted the creator. 

“Hey man,” Robin replied, waving with a wary smile. He was concerned. “What’s going on? Are you sure you’re okay?” 

Jack wanted to nod, but something tugged at his stomach reminding him how much he valued honesty, no matter how strange the situation was. “Uh… God, I don’t know where to begin.” He dragged his hands down his face. “This is unreal, but you’ve got to believe me. I mean, it could be all in my head… Does that mean I’m going insane?” His heart raced. 

Robin looked at him with knitted brows. “What’s wrong? You’re fine, Sean, I know you are. Just tell me what happened.”

The chair creaked as Jack leaned back and twisted his hands in his lap. He blew out his breath. “I think… I think Antisepticeye is real.” 

The reaction was just about what he had expected. Robin raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth, but reassessed what he was going to say and paused to think. “I, uh… I don’t understand. Are you sure?”

“Yes? No? Kind of?” Jack whined and combed his fingers through his hair anxiously. “I’ve passed out three times in the past two days. My computer went crazy and I saw Anti appear in the recording, even though there was nothing in the file. I’ve been hearing his voice, and he just talked to me earlier.  _ Threatened  _ me. He’s hurting me, Robin.” His voice wavered and he swallowed hard, trying to finish. “He was here, Robin. He’s real. I don’t know what’s happening. Oh, god, I’m so scared.” He gripped the chair arms with white knuckles and tried to control his shaky breath as tears began spilling over his red cheeks. 

Robin looked like he had been punched in the gut. His face twisted in dismay. “It’s okay, Sean. You’re gonna be okay,” he tried, clawing through his mind to think of an appropriate response to “My fictional evil alternate self is real and terrorizing me.” 

“Did I do something wrong?” Jack wondered out loud, wiping his cheeks and taking deep breaths. “I had a nightmare. I was trapped in a computer and he was telling me all these awful things. He keeps making static and, like, audio feedback. Ringing in my ears, my mind. It makes my head feel like it’s going to explode and I black out and wake up hours later.” He groaned, looking back to the screen at Robin sitting helplessly.

“I-I don’t know what to say. Is Signe coming back soon? I don’t think you should be alone, whether this is real or not.” 

Jack shrugged. “Next weekend.” Robin didn’t look pleased with that answer, leaning back to think more. “Am I crazy?” Jack breathed. “How would this be real? I’ve been looking at Anti stuff since before Halloween and this has never happened.” 

“Maybe it takes time,” Robin said quietly.

“What?” 

“There’s, like, a belief—lore or something—that says if you think of something too long, too often… it becomes real.” He grimaced, not really believing himself either. “I don’t know. That’s just what comes to my mind.”

Jack sat in silence, mulling it over in his head. So many concepts had passed through his mind, so many times he’d read one and agreed that it was realistic and possible, at least for the character if he was real. There had been more talk about Anti that week and he’d been thinking about it all day to try to plan for a new event featuring his alter. What if he’d done this to himself?

“Antisepticeye is real,” he susurrated. “I made him real.  _ We  _ made him real.”


	9. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm nearly done writing the fic which is nice. I'm about 5 chapters ahead of the published ones so... yeah. hope you're enjoying!

“So how do we get rid of him?” Robin asked, breaking the silence that they’d fallen into.

“If I knew, I’d have done it already.” Jack didn’t mean to be rude, but his hands were still shaky with anxiety and his stomach wouldn’t settle. He wanted— _needed_ —to this to be over.

Robin gave him a pitying look. “Maybe I should come over there with you.”

“No!” He surprised himself with his immediate response. “I don’t want you to get hurt too. I don’t know where he came from, but if he’s manifesting from the house, he might get you too.” Jack absentmindedly pulled at the collar of his shirt. It felt tighter than usual. Or maybe that was just his throat tensing.

Robin furrowed his brows. “I’m not leaving you until we figure out what to do about this.”

“What, do we call an exorcist?” Jack almost laughed. He dragged a hand through his fading, dark green hair and yanked at it. “Is he in my head, or in the computer, or the air, or all three? God, I just had to say _something_ so I wouldn’t be going insane alone.”

The editor frowned. “You’re going to be okay, Sean, I promise.” His voice was thick with worry and Jack felt his chest loosen with the kindness in Robin’s eyes.

“I… Thank you.” He was not loud. He was soft, sunken within himself.

“I’d bet he’s from the computer,” Robin suggested. “He came from the fans, which you know through there, and he hijacked your recording, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.” That was true enough, Jack judged, but something wasn’t right. They were missing something, his uneasy, swimming emotions told him. “But he… In the nightmare, he had me trapped in the computer. Inside it, like a world part-digital part-physical. And then the noise started—” Jack flinched just recalling the feeling, the remnants still echoing in his ears. “God, it was awful. I couldn’t move or think. All I could feel was pain. Then I could hear him telling me horrible things. I’m a failure. I’m useless. I’m annoying, which,” he laughed, “I kinda knew already, I guess.”

Robin’s face lightened just a little at the joke. “You’re the good kind,” he added, smiling at his friend. “But you’re definitely not a failure, or useless.”

“Thank you. Really.” Calm swept back over the Irishman and his hands slowed in their wringing. “What do you think that means about… him?”

“Honestly, it sounds like he’s the voice of your doubts. He _is_ your evil counterpart. He’s the bad version of Jacksepticeye, which means he expresses the negative thoughts, whereas you, the good guy,” Robin smirked, “stick to the positives.”

“‘Be more positive,’” Jack echoed in awe. “That makes so much sense. Dude. You’re incredible!”

“Eh, what do I know? I’m just an artist.” Robin grinned through the screen.

The call ended with Jack promising to be safe and to remember that he was not his doubts, and Robin demanding videos to edit and a call when he went to bed and when he woke up. They still didn’t know what exactly was happening, why or how, or how to deal with it, but they had a decent plan, they thought. Jack would focus on the fact that Anti was fictional, and try his best to be positive. Maybe his usual energy would expel the negativity. If not, he didn’t know exactly how much trouble he might be in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eeeeeeeeeeeeee things are about to get a lot worse before they get better.


	10. Chapter 8

There were too many hours left in the day. The looming threat of another attack from the digital demon kept Jack wandering around the flat, restless and still shaking. He was afraid he’d never stop shaking. He couldn’t seem to swallow properly and a headache lingered at the edges of his brain, dangerously amenable to any change in volume or pressure. Needless to say, the afternoon dragged on very uncomfortably for the Irishman.

6:00 came and passed, the first video of the day going up on his channel. Jack didn’t notice. He sat in front of the camera, trying for the hundredth time to explain what was happening. 

“Top of the morning to ya laddies,” he began again, his voice defunct and weak. “My name is Jacksepticeye, and I have some things to explain.” His energy seemed to drain after just a few words and he slumped forward, leaning on his elbows propped on his knees. He would cut this bit out in editing. A breath swelled in his chest and he sat back up to continue. “I’m not exactly sure what to say without sounding like I’m… crazy. I mean…” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the floor. “I’m kind of having a mental breakdown of some kind. Not to sound too dramatic; I’ll be fine. I just… I think there’s something going on with Antisepticeye. He’s… real, I guess. If you saw that Anti edit in that last video… I didn’t do that. I think he’s a manifestation of my insecurities, and he’s real because of how many people—all of you guys—believed in him. Imagination can be powerful, I guess.” 

He fell back in the chair. This wasn’t working. Should he even say anything about Anti? What if that made it worse? 

“I’m having a psychotic episode or something. I’m… not well. Not to be dramatic, but I’ll be fine. I think I need to step back from YouTube for a few days, as much as I hate to.” His stomach turned at the thought of leaving the channel empty.

“I’ll be back. Don’t worry about me. Sometimes we all just need to take a mental health day and get ourselves help. If you’re having problems, I promise there’s always someone who can help. Love you guys. I’ll see you all in the next video.” 

He turned off the camera. His chest felt empty, as if his heart had gone missing and left a gaping hole beneath his ribs. He couldn’t bring himself to do the full outro; he thought this was more sincere, but now it felt…  _ wrong. _

He launched right into editing, not wanting to waste any more time. The video ended up being cut so much, barely two minutes remained with his half-hearted explanation. As he finished up, it finally dawned on him that he’d declared a break without fully grasping that meant his schedule was empty for the next few days. He created the thumbnail in a daze and set the video to upload privately so he could post it the next day.

No appearances from Anti had infected the footage. His own exhausted image seemed enough. What did the demon really want? Did he want Jack to break? Did he want to  _ kill  _ him? It seemed from the torture and nightmares that it was more than likely the end result would be Jack’s death (in some form or another). But  _ why? _

“I know you’re out there, you bastard,” he rasped. The sound scared him and his heart pulsed weakly in his chest. “God, do you want me dead or something?” He pressed his palm to the spot and tried to quell the rising anxiety.

_ I’m going to die. He’s going to kill me. There’s nothing I can do and it’s all my fault. _

The malevolent wisp of laughter filtered into the room once again. Jack’s skin tingled with static and he stood up from the chair. 

“What do you want?”

**_You._ **

The word invaded his skull, scraped his mind with venomous claws, and the headache surged. Jack’s knees weakened and he pitched forward, catching himself with a heavy step forward. He gripped his head and grimaced and struggled to keep his eyes open. “What do I do? Just tell me what to do or leave me the fuck alone!”

**_You are weak._ **

“Please,” he croaked as black spots appeared in his vision. His throat was closing on him, a fiery burning lighting up inside and choking him.  _ “Please _ just leave me alone.”

Low chuckling forced its way through the haze he was falling into. It was the clearest thing in the room and it filled his heart with fear. 

**_You are pathetic._ **

“What do you want from me?” Jack’s voice was failing, strained and barely a whisper. The room swam and he fell to the floor, barely registering the pain that lit his arm and side. He gasped and clawed as his throat. There was no air to be drawn in and no air to be pushed out. He was fading. He was dying.

The demon only continued laughing as the darkness consumed the moribund, beaten body on the floor.


	11. Chapter 8.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's so short!! it's a style thing. more is coming soon.

_ His feet couldn’t find solid ground. He was floating in the depth of space and seeing no change in his surroundings whether he opened or closed his eyes. The black remained the same. He couldn’t breathe, and his lungs burned, but his body wouldn’t give in. _

**_Why won’t you die?_ **

_ Suddenly, stars appeared. The light made his skin glow. He still couldn’t speak, but his mind was free. _

I’m… alive?

_ The stars flickered and seemed to be bits of paper catching fire. The universe shook as the demon grew angry.  _

**_You are nothing._** **_You are empty._**

_ The stars trembled and the burning in his chest grew until he thought he could feel the smoke crawling up his throat. The stars blinked passively until they burned out and left him in a void once again. The fire in his chest spread until every inch of his body was screaming in agony, but he couldn’t make a sound. _

_ He gave into the pain, begging for mercy, and felt himself shatter until there was nothing left. There had been nothing inside, just as he was told. _

_ He was nothing. _


	12. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's time to meet Anti...

When his eyes opened, Jack couldn’t believe he was alive. Not only had he passed out, but he was sure there was no way he could have survived what he’d just been subjected to. He’d been starved of air for too long. Yet, he was awake. However, he couldn't move. His arms felt stapled to the floor and his lungs were made of lead, unable to lift or take in a breath more than a shallow pant. His eyes looked around the room, panicked, trying to get a measure on where he was.

He was in his recording room. He couldn’t remember much of what had happened before being brought so close to death. A conversation with Robin glimmered in the back of his memory and he was almost certain he’d been in this same room. He fought the fog clouding his brain and tried his hardest to breathe as deeply and strong as he could.

_ Did I come back from the dead? Why would Anti have revived me? _

The damned laughter rang through the silence. Jack’s blood froze and his skin tingled as he listened carefully.

**“Don’t be so stupid,”** Anti crooned.  **“I may not be able to kill you, but you’re under my control now.”**

Jack tried vainly to speak. A feeble whimper escaped his lips. 

Footsteps padded toward him and soon a figure loomed over him, covering him in a shadow that was growing familiar. The demon looked just like the creator in many ways—green hair, lanky limbs, scruffy beard, solid black outfit—but it was clear he was not human. Aside from the toxic vibe that surrounded him, accompanied by an almost imperceptible haze obscuring his skin like a camera that wouldn’t focus, his eyes were cold and dead and jade instead of the bright blue irises Jack held. His skin was ashen and his verdant hair was many shades darker than the fading locks that sat on Jack's head.

_ He’s… real.  _ Jack couldn’t believe it, and he would have gaped had he been able to control his body.

Anti chuckled.  **“I’m as real as you are, Jackaboy.”**

The piercing ringing returned and Jack couldn’t focus on anything but the noise. He squinted as if to protect his eyes. He managed a stifled cough that caused his chest to scream in pain. Anti stood over him, grinning with his hands tucked in his pockets. He hadn’t won, but he was far from finished with the boy.

A loud screaming of audio interference made Jack press further into the wood beneath him and grimace, praying to be left alone. Anti chuckled beyond his vision, much closer than was comfortable. He leaned over to whisper into Jack’s ear. 

**“Your time will come.”**

A violent rush and a dull thud that shook the ground replaced the threatening voice. Jack flinched and shut his eyes tight, wishing he could cover his head with his arms, and whimpered. Almost as suddenly as it had come, the presence of the demon was gone.

When Jack opened his eyes, the pressure was gone. He assumed that meant he could move his body again, but he made no attempt to. The pain was still there, omnipresent and unbearable. Even his eyes seemed to hurt as he blinked. He was lying on the floor on his back. A large knife had been stabbed into the floor just inches from his head. His reflection showed a battered, weary visage and blue eyes wide with fear. 

Jack sighed and rolled his head back to center. He wondered where Anti had gone and when he would be back.

One question had been answered, but it didn’t bring him any comfort. Anti wanted him dead. 

Eventually, Jack gathered the strength to sit up off the floor. The room swayed and he clutched his head and grimaced as if trying to squeeze his balance back together. “What am I gonna do?” he whined as he wrapped his arms around his legs. He leaned his forehead into his knees and breathed slowly.  _ What good would leaving do? At least here, no one can see me lose my mind.  _

He pressed his palms into the floor and lifted himself up. He leaned on the chair, then bent down to grab the knife. He hesitated, wary of a surprise attack from his haunter, but gripped the smooth black handle when nothing happened. It pulled out of the floorboards with an irritating scraping sound. The blade was bent, but it still glinted dangerously. 

Jack shuddered and immediately brought it to the kitchen where he shut it in a drawer under a pile of hand rags. Out the window above the sink, he could see the small city still covered in a layer of white, though it was melting away. Why hadn’t he left already? Why did he stay inside, alone and unsafe? 

He knew why. He didn’t want to burden or endanger anyone else with this monster. Besides, would anyone believe him? He didn’t know who or what Anti was, or how to fight him. He may as well have been a dead man walking. Maybe it was time to say goodbye.


	13. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: self-harm, blood, torture, etc

Robin didn’t hear from Jack for the next few days, nor did anyone else. He had locked himself away in the apartment, soaking up the desolation and waiting for his demon’s return. He waited, and waited, and waited. It seemed Anti enjoyed the change of pace, not even having to be present to torture the Irishman. The fridge became empty and Jack grew weaker. He wandered around the house with soft footsteps, always on edge, always listening and watching the shadows.

One night, he noticed a headache creeping up. He panicked and swallowed ten pills of a painkiller.

It wasn’t enough to kill, but he woke up in a haze and unsure of where he was or how much time had passed.

The darkness spoke to him.

**_You’re weak._ **

He whimpered and pushed himself into a corner.

**_You’re stupid._ **

He covered his face in his hands and shook his head. “No, no, no,” he pleaded.

**_You’re worthless._ **

His fingers twisted in his hair and pulled, but he couldn’t feel the pain. He couldn’t feel anything. Fear and guilt flooded his system and he shook when he stood.

**_You’re dead, anyway._ **

“Stop it!” he screamed, gripping his head. Still, loathing seeped through his bones and his skin seemed ugly, wrong, disgusting. He found himself in the bathroom, staring at lifeless eyes in the mirror. He grabbed the bottle of soap and smashed the mirror, watching with satisfaction as it fell to pieces. It was just as broken as he was. Useless now.

**_Do it._ **

He cried as he gripped the shards and pressed his hands into the remains of the mirror, searching through the numbness to feel the pain, anything at all. The blood ran down the cabinet, covered his fingers, and dripped onto the white counter. His tears spilled down his cheeks and he shook his head back and forth, simultaneously hating what he was doing and consumed by the catharsis.

“Oh, god.” His voice cracked. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He’d never felt so hopeless. He was falling with nothing to hold onto as he plummeted toward the pit and a demon waiting with open arms.

The ringing was back again. He heard the floorboards creak and static from the machines in the other rooms. The breath was sucked from his body and he was frozen against the counter. His mind wailed helplessly as he felt the hairs on his head and arms raise and his ears filled with the sounds.

 **“Good boy,”** Anti murmured. He stepped through the doorway and snaked his arms around Jack’s waist, dragging his fingertips up the front of his body. Jack couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes. He noticed the razors held delicately in the ashen hands seconds before they were pressing into the white flesh of his arms. The pain was not dulled; he could feel every excruciating second of it, but he only remained between his demon and the counter, biting his lip and muffling sobs as they shook his body. Anti dragged his weapons up, drawing vicious red lines into the once-clean skin and laughed softly into Jack’s ear.

**“You’re learning. You have nothing left.”**

Jack gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. His breathing slowed and he floated far away from what was happening, the pain throbbing in his subconscious. He tried to imagine a safe, warm place, but all he could see was eternal despair, pain, helplessness, and the emptiness inside sucked his energy away. He stayed put as Anti continued his torture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh i had way too much fun writing this scene


	14. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _it's hard to be just what you need  
>  when all I speak is static screams_

Anti eventually lost interest in cutting up Jack’s arms and instead turned to smearing the blood and painting all over his victim’s neck and face. He chuckled, his hot breath tickling Jack’s hear. **“You know what? You are good at something.”** Jack was forced to return his attention to reality as Anti dug his nails into his skin when he didn’t respond. **“You’re good at controlling yourself. No one can order you around like _you,_ Jackaboy.” ** His only reply was gritted teeth and a low groan. He seemed satisfied for the moment, though, and picked up a razor to rake it across Jack’s neck, pressing just enough to induce pain without cutting too deep. The blood trailed across the skin and Jack swallowed, causing a ridge in the line. **“Oh, come on now. You ruined my artwork.”**

Jack stared at the counter, watched his bloody hands tense and press into the solid surface. Anti growled, dropped the razor, and grabbed him by the neck, forcing him to look forward into the mirror. Their reflection was distorted and miserable in the shattered mirror. **“Aren’t you going to say something? Do you like how you look now? Can’t you just _see_ the failure?”**

The word triggered a reaction in Jack. In the pit of his stomach, something twisted and burst, filling him with emotion. “You _bastard,”_ he seethed with a raw voice.

A wide grin spread on the demon’s face. He squeezed Jack’s arms. **“There you go.”**

Jack clenched his fists and slowly reawakened his muscles. His body filled with rage and he shook. “What the fuck do you _want?_ What are you? Why are you here? How are you even real?”

The barrage of questions pleased Anti. **“I want _you,_ as I said before. I want you to see the _real_ you.” **He traced the blood on Jack’s neck with a finger, pressing into the cuts and making Jack suck in a breath through his teeth. He seemed to be drinking in Jack’s appearance greedily. **“I’m antiseptic, aren’t I? I’m here to purify you, to be the truth. It’s not my fault if you don’t want to hear it.”**

“T-Truth?” Jack stuttered, his jaw slack. “No!” He stared into the shards of glass and realized the pressure had disappeared. He lifted his hands off the counter. He spun around, shoving his hands into Anti’s shoulders and pushing him away with all of his strength. The demon stumbled back. Jack clutched his forehead in pain when Anti’s hand lashed out and dashed another slice above his eyebrow. Jack couldn’t remember when he’d picked the little metal devil back up. The blood trickled down his face and he squeezed one eye shut.

Anti looked up at him from where he fell with a wicked smile. He stood up, the razor gone, and brushed himself off.

**“There’s the Jack we all know,”** he hissed. **“Feisty.”** The word sounded dirty, like an insult.

Jack groped for a towel and pressed it into his head. “Get the hell away from me,” he told him, trying to be firm. “Wherever you came from, go back there.” His burst of energy was already fading and he struggled to keep his weakening limbs steady. Even Anti seemed to be weary as well; the static was stuttering and he kept twitching, jerking his head to the side or flexing his fingers abruptly.

Still, Anti threw back his head and laughed. **“Are you sure about that? I told you, _I'm you._ You can't escape me. Not without killing yourself, perhaps.” **The suggestion definitely amused him.

“Are you some sort of demon?” Jack was exhausted and desperate to keep Anti off him, or to buy however much time he needed until he would leave. He guessed he had a limited time to keep a physical form. “A demon summoned to haunt me and tell me to kill myself? You’re as bad as hate comments.”

Anti tutted and feigned hurt by placing a hand on his chest and pouting. **“Oh, is that how little you think of me? Please. I’m hardly a demon, Jackaboy; at least not the kind you’re thinking of.”**

“Then what _are_ you?” the boy cried, digging his nails into the palm of his free hand by his side. “How do I get you to go away?”

Anti twitched and shook. **“What do you think?”** He smirked despite how obvious it was that he was fading.

“I-I thought―”

**“You didn’t _think_** **at all! You just reacted!”** He grew angry as he fell apart. He had a message to get across and Jack wasn’t getting it. **“You think you’re immune to all of this! You think you’re _fine._ You could never be sick like this! Oh no, not you!” ** He let out a static scream and Jack could see the wall through him. He shrunk against the counter and threw his arm over his face in an attempt to protect himself.

**“You are _human_ goddammit! And you will _suffer like one!”_ **

Jack squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for the violence to end. When it suddenly stopped and silence filled his head with cotton, he lowered his arms and looked around the bathroom for the demon. He was gone. He was alone. Jack slumped against the furniture and carefully took the towel off his head. The bleeding had stopped, but not before it left a heavy stain on the pale yellow cloth. He threw it into the bathtub, not ready to deal with it at the moment, and cradled his bloody arms.

There was blood everywhere. His skin was dyed with it, the counter covered in scattered smears and puddles, and the shards of glass had it all over their edges. The razor blades sat in the pool, glinting in the light.

He clenched his jaw. With an angry sweep of his bloodied hands, he threw the blades to the floor and cried. The hot tears stung on his cheeks as he shuddered with sobs and held his trembling arms out in front of him with numb, crooked fingers. The blood still oozed out of the cuts, glaring at him and filling him with shame. He fell against the wall just as his demon had. His arms lay limp on his thighs and throbbed. All of his strength was sapped out of his body, but he resolved to clean himself as best he could. Gently, he dabbed with a wet cloth at the scratches and cuts and wrapped them in bandages. As he finished up and rested, only one thought was clear: at least he hadn’t passed out again.


	15. Chapter 12

It took a long time for him to get up off the bathroom floor. The floor swayed beneath his feet and a distant thought suggested he needed to drink some water or something.

There was nothing to do if Jack was avoiding his friends and the internet itself. The channel was stagnant, his phone was dead, and he was  _ bored.  _ He paced around his flat, wandered from room to room without any real recognition of what he was doing. His hair was falling out and his stomach growled at him, but he hated to admit that the pain was growing ordinary, even comfortable. It gnawed at him just as much as his crescive self-loathing. 

One thing to keep him busy, though, was cleaning up the mess in the bathroom. The mirror was beyond repair. He wrapped up the shards and threw them away, only hesitating with a hungry stare for a few seconds before they were truly gone. Then he scrubbed the surfaces for an hour. A faint stain was still left, however, and he stood in the doorway eyeing it, disappointed. He didn’t have any hydrogen peroxide. (Or did he? He couldn’t remember where it was, anyway.) He’d heard that dissolved blood. 

What remained of the mirror reflected his tired face, also stained a rusted red. He touched the cut on his forehead absentmindedly, evidence that Anti had been real. He barely registered his fingertips prodding the injury. Only the growl of his stomach brought him back to reality.

He wiped stray tears. The feeling of his crumpled face was becoming familiar.

“God, I’m a mess.” His voice was still coarse and he looked away from the mirror as if it had slapped him. “I should go to the shop.” The empty fridge agreed with him.

His movements as he dressed to go outside were robotic and he didn’t recognize himself. His phone sat with a black screen by his bed and a thought briefly flashed through his mind,  _ Robin is probably worried about me.  _ He left it there and went out the door into the cold.

Anti hadn’t come back since the attack, not even a flicker. Had he run out of energy? Keeping the form that long seemed like it had been difficult, especially adding the effort to keep Jack contained. Then he’d made him angry. 

Supposedly, he was Jack and Jack was he. And apparently Jack was sick. He definitely felt sick  _ now,  _ but Anti seemed to insist this was something that had been there before all of this, and that Jack was denying it.  _ He tells me I’m pathetic, and useless. But he also said I need to “suffer like a human” as if I don’t think I’m human.  _ Jack stomped into a pile of snow as he passed, taking a moment to focus on the crunch of his boots to calm his swirling thoughts. What did he need to do? What did Anti want? 

_ Robin said he was my negative side. What, my  _ mental _ demons? I don’t have depression, or anxiety, or anything like that. I’m just… fine…  _

That was what Anti had said. Between the power of so many people believing in him thanks to the community online and Jack’s own deflective coping method for when he was feeling down, it almost made sense, in a strange, magic-involved sort of way. Could this sort of magic really exist? 

As much as Jack wanted to debate that, there was no denying what was happening to him. The injuries on him were definitely physical and  _ real _ and he had to figure out a way to deal with this. 

His feet kept walking for him as his mind strayed. He turned the thoughts over in his head, trying to make sense of it all. Magic? Really? What Robin had been talking about was the power of belief. At the very core, it would be a mixture of coincidence and being common among enough people. If this were just a coincidence, and Antisepticeye wasn’t real… that would mean this was all in Jack’s head.  _ But what about the cuts?  _ his mind begged.  _ I didn’t do that! I would never…!  _

He groaned and kicked into a snowbank. His boot got stuck and he yanked it out, shaking his leg to get rid of the clinging lumps of snow. He stared at the ground until the colors began to swirl together in a fuzzy blob of brown, off-white, black, and grey. His eyes stung. Oh, right. He hadn’t blinked. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds and pushed his fingers into his aching sockets. Maybe he  _ was  _ having a rough time mentally. Maybe something was wrong. Was he schizophrenic? Wasn’t there an age zone for that? No, right; he’d ruled that out in that one game he played a while back… what was it called? Some sort of evil demon painting game. Hadn’t he put glitches in that series?

A wave of nausea swept over him. His vision blurred and the ground beneath his feet swayed like a ship. His limbs were heavy and he could barely resist the urge to sit down to rest as his heart pumped louder and louder. 

How long had he been out here? 

His hungry stomach growled and reminded him where he was going. He kept walking.  _ At least it’s not windy,  _ he thought. The temperature gave him chills but his coat kept him just warm enough. 

The snow had become a blur of white in front of his tired, aching eyes. He thought of igloos. How did they keep warm? Snow must be insulating. Maybe if he lied down in the snow, he would be warmer. By the time he had found a patch of snow that looked good enough, he was far off the concrete path through the city and into the woods. The scenery around him was beautiful and he happily let it consume his thoughts. As he lay down, his face to the sky and his breath slow, he briefly thought of the white of his empty refrigerator. It was almost the same shade as the snow around him. Definitely not the sky, though. That was a mottled grey. 

The dark brown branches above him bobbed in the wind and creaked. His heart rate picked up. His eyes were failing him, tricking him, he  _ knew,  _ but the long extension of the tree looked too much like a hand reaching for him with claws outstretched. He found himself crying. 

“Please leave me alone,” he whimpered. The wind howled past him and scattered dead leaves across the icy surface of the snow. He shivered. His weak voice was lost in the wind. “I don’t want to go.” 

His vision darkened. His throat closed up. He hadn’t noticed the ringing in his ears; he couldn’t hear anything more now. All he could do was sink deeper into the earth. All he could feel was the snow, the darkness, and the pain of his lungs burning and his fingers clawing at his throat in a desperate attempt to  _ breathe _ . His blood was seeping out of the cuts all over his body, he just  _ knew  _ it was. 

He was going to die. He didn’t know why. He couldn’t even remember where he was.

He slipped away.


	16. Chapter 12.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this is still okay haha. comments are greatly appreciated.

**_“Names are a funny thing,”_ ** _a voice said. It surrounded him. It sounded distorted by static and far-off._ **_“They have power, don’t they?”_ ** _There was silence. A pause. Thoughts gathering. Then words returned, laced with hatred beneath an innocent facade. **“**_ ** _You gave yourself a new one and pretended you would always be fine.”_ **

_He couldn’t feel or see anything. He was floating. Somehow, he didn’t feel afraid._

_He didn’t need to open his mouth to speak to the voice._ What is my name?

 _The voice chuckled._ **_“You don’t need that. Do you know_ ** **my** ** _name?”_ **

_He tried to remember, tried to think, but his head felt empty. In fact, it didn’t feel like he had a head at all. He only existed. Somehow, that was fine._

I don’t know.

 **_“You could call me many names. Brónach. Cianan. Suileabhan. Breen. Cillian. Those are all just_ ** **fine.”**

Those are nice. _He didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t recognize any of them._

**_“Don’t they mean something to you? They should. They’re a part of you in the same way I am.”_ **

_Once again, he could only give a tentative, shallow response._ No… I don’tー

_The voice carried on without outwardly acknowledging his lack of comprehension, though he could hear the anger boiling under the surface._

**_“Do you know what most people have called me these days?”_ **

No. Do I know you by this name?

**_“I should hope so. They call me Anti.”_ **

_The name struck something inside him and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. Hatred surged inside him and his body materialized, his hands reaching up to grip his throat. The black emptiness lifted just enough for him to see the figure before him. Anti. The demon watched as he struggled. Then he began to creep closer. He hovered inches from the weakening man. He smiled and pried the hands away and dragged a finger across his exposed neck._ **_“Say goodbye,”_ ** _he hissed. When the hand re-entered his vision, it was clutching a knife. He slashed it across the man’s throat and disappeared._

_The pain engulfed him. He stopped struggling and went limp, letting the death take its course._


	17. Chapter 13

He had no idea where he was. All he knew was that it was too bright and somethingーeverythingーwas hurting.

“Jack?” A voice sifted through the haze. Was that his name? “Come on, wake up. I can see your eyes moving.”

It was like lifting a cotton cocoon infused with lead off his body as he struggled to come to full consciousness. His eyelids weighed ten pounds, but he eventually pried them open. He blinked in the harsh light, brighter than ever now that his eyes weren’t closed. Tears welled in the corners and a wave of emotion crashed over him, sweeping him off his feet and the breath out of his lungs. Seeing the IV in his arm and realizing he was naked under a thin papery gown did not help his panic.

It took all his resolve to keep from trying to take the IV out (he finally realized it was a hospital, he was in a hospital, he had to be careful).

There was a person next to the bed. They had messy, bleached blond hair and kind blue eyes.

“Jack! Hey, Jack! It’s okay.” They laid a hand on his arm, the palm firm and warm and their fingers fanning out. He snapped his head up from frantically looking around him to stare at the stranger. Was he supposed to respond to that name? Who was this person?

“I’m… fine.” The words tasted sour. It was so hard to speak, he immediately blanched at the fear of tearing out his own vocal chords and decided against any further attempt. His throat seemed to be damaged up from the inside and it was as if his esophagus was barely there at all. It hurt. _Everything_ hurt. His arms, his legs, his hands, his throat, his headーhe had the worst headache.

“Yes.” The person looked relieved at the response. “You’re fine. You’re gonna be okay.”

They leaned back and threaded a hand through their hair. They had dark bags under their eyes and weary movements. “They told me they… found you outside. In the snow. You were almost in the woods. You were so far from your house and you barely had enough clothes on… God, Jack, what were you doing? What happened to you?”

The concern in their voice made him shrink away, unsure of what to do. Had he disappointed them in some way? What _had_ happened to him? He couldn’t remember much of anything.

He lifted a shaky hand and delicately touched his fingers to his throat. (It wasn’t cut. Why wasn’t it cut? Why did he expect it to be cut?) The stranger caught the action and seemed to grow more upset.

“Your neck… They said you must have scratched yourself raw. You were bleeding from your head, your hands, your neck, y-your wrists… It must have been awful.” Their voice wobbled but they sighed and seemed to reset themself. They leaned back toward him and rested their hand carefully on his leg, looking at him with gentle eyes. “Robin called me. He told me there was something weird going on with you and he was worried. When you disappeared and we heard you’d been put in the hospital, I got here as fast as I could. Signe was out of reach, but I got her a few hours ago and she’s going to get the first flight here from Denmark, a redeye if she has to.” They were silent again, just rubbing their thumb in small circles on his leg.

The names stirred something in his stomach. He recognized them. Somehow. He hated that he didn’t remember what happened; something horrible, obviously. Was he attacked? The injuries were self-inflicted, though, according to this person. What did he do to himself? Why did he do it?

He needed to write something. If he couldn’t speak, that was his best bet at communicating. A pencil and paper was nowhere to be found, so he grabbed the stranger’s arm and traced the letter J on the soft forearm.

“What are you doing?” they asked. They quickly caught onto the spelling and sputtered out, “Jack?” He then repeatedly drew a question mark. Over and over and over. _Jack? Jack? Jack?_ He pointed to himself. More question marks. “Yes. Yes, Jack, that’s you. You’re Jack. D-do you not remember your name?” They seemed stricken with grief and hastily stood  from the chair, knocking it backward and ripping their arm from his grasp. “Oh, god.”

They left. He sat in the silence save for the beeping and distant bustle of the nurses outside the door. It didn’t seem quite so loud anymore, but it was still so _wrong._ Was the stranger going away? Did he scare them? Did they realize he wasn’t Jack? He wanted someone familiar, but he couldn’t think of anyone that might fit that role.

The stranger came back with a doctor.

“He doesn’t recognize me,” they were saying, a frantic pitch to their voice. “He doesn’t recognize his own name!”

The doctor peered at him, examining his head (probably the injury the stranger mentioned) carefully. “There are no signs of brain damage or a possible concussion. The cut is only surface and he might just have a headache. There’s no reason for any memory loss…”

“Well something is seriously wrong, goddammit!” The doctor was trying to help, he knew, but the stranger seemed to be in a blind panic and wouldn’t listen. “What about frostbite? Can that cause amnesia? Or hypothermia?” They obviously cared about him more than he knew.

More doctors and nurses came and left. The stranger retreated to the back wall, shrouded in shadow. He closed his eyes and drifted away. The only thing he could recall was feeling coldーhe was so _cold_ ーand a raspy, corrupt voice that prompted him to let go. Why did he need a name, anyway? He didn’t matter. He was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll be using “he” pronouns for Jack and “they” for the stranger until the memories come back so you don’t get too confused. (Can you guess who it is? Just for fun lol.)


	18. Chapter 14

After twenty minutes or more of the staff bustling, they finally left. The man in the hospital bed returned his attention to his reality now that there weren’t countless hands prodding him and asking him questions he couldn’t answer. They must have put something in his IV because his head was light, wobbly, and filled with cotton, but his throat felt better. 

The stranger stepped forward and hesitantly laid a hand on the edge of the bed. “J-Jack?” They winced and tried again. “Hi. How are you feeling?”

He blinked at them, still studying their features over and over in an effort to recognize them. “-m fffine,” he mumbled. His tongue was too big for his mouth and his lips wouldn’t move correctly. 

The stranger’s face fell even more. “I’m… Well, I’m Felix. We’re friends. Best friends, I think.” They cracked a smile but he noticed their knuckles turn white. “Your name is JaーSean. It’s Sean. Your real one. But people also call you Jack.” 

That seemed confusing. Why wouldn’t he just use his real name? Whoever he was, he was strange. Neither name felt like his own, anyway, so he’d just ignore them.

Felix sat on the end of the bed. “Is it okay if I stay here?” He nodded. He didn’t really know this person, but he knew he’d feel unbearably lonely and lost if they left. “Okay. Um…” It seemed Felix was the one lost right now. “Do you want me to tell you about yourself so maybe you’ll remember? Or I could talk about me, if you want. Or yourー” 

“Wha’ hap’n teh me?” 

Felix cringed. They obviously didn’t want to talk about that, but he was curious. “You… Do you remember what I said before?” He nodded. “Well, that’s most of what we know. I don’t suppose I could ask you why you were out there, huh?” Something seemed wrong in the way they were so solemn. He knew they weren’t usually like this. (Was he remembering something?)

He shook his head and looked away, picking at the blankets. 

The bed creaked as Felix leaned back. They sighed. “You live in a little house in Athlone, Ireland with your girlfriend, Signe. You record two videos a day playing video games for your YouTube channel. Your friend, Robin, lives in Sweden. He helps you edit the videos so you have more free time. You’re loud and funny and optimistic and you have the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known.” Felix pushed their hands into their eyes. They took a deep, shaky breath. When they looked at him over their hands with watery blue eyes, his heart broke. He needed to remember who they were.

He could tell they were looking at his scratches. He almost shoved his hands under the blankets, but his own curiosity got the better of him. He slowly turned his arms over to look at the pale flesh of his forearmーmarred with long cuts, dried blood, and bruises, and looking more grey than Irish white. 

He shuddered. The cuts shot a horrible feeling into his stomach and adrenaline spiked through his veins. He was suddenly panicking, his breaths shallow and quick, scrambling to get up and out of the bed.

“No!  _ No!”  _ He was screaming. His throat burned with each syllable and he was sure he must have sounded like a monster. “No! No! No! Leave me alone! Stop  _ hurting  _ me!” Hot tears fell from his eyes and wet his cheeks. His chest tightened. He couldn’t  _ breathe. _ His fingers turned into claws and scratched harshly at his neck once again. Shaky arms and shaky breath heightened his panic. 

He could hear the voice. The voice like his own that told him how  _ worthless _ he was, how  _ stupid.  _ If he had gone out in the snow and landed himself in a hospital, he must have been an idiot. 

The demon’s face appeared in the shadows behind Felix, the poor friend who was only a pale blur to the terrified man and didn’t know what was happening or how to help. The eyes glowed green and the glint of a knife set him off so bad, he couldn’t see. His head was fuzzy. His fingers were numb. Indistinct figures entered the room and crowded him, blocking out the view of the visitor. Felix’s blurred shape was in his peripheral vision, hovering carefully, concerned. He knew the doctors were going to sedate him and for once, he welcomed the mental twilight.


	19. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my document is 50 pages long hell yeah

He was not alone in his dreams. In fact, the figure that accompanied him had the only familiar face he’d seen all day. Unfortunately, it was not one he was happy to see. 

“What did you do to me?” He didn't know who the figure was by name, but he could feel there was something between them. A history he knew couldn't be pleasant.

It made a sound so horribly twisted that it made his stomach churn and he felt incompetent just standing there. 

**“You've been too easy, really. I thought there would have been a better fight in you.”** Once again, he was a hopeless disappointment. Even disappointing this thing felt like a severe blow to his self-esteem. He hated it with all of his being.

“Please,” he whispered, staring at his feet. He couldn't look at its eyes. “If you're hurting my friends, please, just stop. They don't deserve this.”

**“You deserve to lose them, though.”** It bared its teeth in a toothy grin.  **“I guess they're just gonna have to be the casualties of your doomed little war.”**

He felt a lump lodge itself in his throat. Something wasn't right. He couldn't properly defend himself if he didn't even know who he was. This all seemed too hard, too impossible. The vertical cliff in front of him wasn't worth the effort. Maybe he should just give them up. He was only one person, one tiny inadequate drop of water in their lives. These supposed friends would forget about whoever he was and be saved from whatever torture this demon had in mind for him.

As easy at it was to give up, and as much as his tired mind screamed at him to let go, his heart was reluctant, still clinging to something it was sure was missing. He wasn’t getting the full picture, so it wouldn’t be right to make a decision yet, right? 

Suddenly, the cuts on his arms began to sting. He yanked his sleeves back to examine them, but nothing new had happened; they were just irritated, red, and as humiliating as always. 

The demon smirked at him. The sight was acid in his veins and he only glared back. If there was one thing he knew, it was that this thing was the one to blame for all of this. 

He rolled his sleeves back down and squeezed his arms through the fabric, wincing at the tiny dots of blood appearing. “Give me back my memories,” he demanded. 

His response came as a shrill, metallic laugh that sent shivers down his spine.  **“As if it would be that easy! What fun would that be?”** The hungry, predatory gaze it leveled at him did nothing to ease his anxiety.  **“This way, it’s like I get to play with you all over again! Who gets a second chance like** **_this_ ** **nowadays?”** It was genuinely entertained by his dolor. 

He groaned and sunk to his knees. His arm pulsed.  _ “Please.  _ What do you want from me? I don’t even know who I am anymore. How am I supposed to give you what you want?”

**“Your human grief is enough.”** It bent down to hold its face just inches from his. Its hot, coppery breath caused him to recoil but its hand shot out and gripped him by the back of the head, digging its nails into his scalp. With its other hand, it grabbed his wrists as they rested in his lap and kept them together with inhuman strength. His stomach dropped.  **“You have no control here. You are going to feel the truth for once in your life.”**

“The truth?” he spat, still pulling away as hard as he could. The nails on both his wrists and his skull tightened and he was sure he could feel blood trickling down his skin. “You took the truth away from me when you took my memories!” 

**“You’re pathetic!”** It ignored his argument and threw him to the ground, kneeling on his chest and holding his wrists with both hands.  **“You’ll get it in time. I’ll make sure of it.”**

He couldn’t keep in the sob that ripped through him. He shuddered beneath the demon. “Please just give me my name. I need something. Felix tells me it’s Jack, or Sean, but I don’t understand. Please!” 

A smirk returned to its thin, pallid lips.  **“Verdo. See how your little friend likes that.”**

A name. He had a name. A tiny piece of the hole in his chest began to heal and he nodded wildly. All he wanted now was to get this thing off him. 

**“Oh, and you can call me Brónach, you fuckin’ Irishman,”** it told him with a malachite wink. 

Verdo just shook his head and closed his eyes. “Th-thank you. Please leave me alone.” He could almost see the eyeroll that must have accompanied the long sigh he was given. When the ringing in his ears faded and the anxiety in his blood rested, he knew he was alone. All of his muscles gave out and he fell back onto the ground. His head ached, mostly from its nails and when he’d been thrown down. He reached up and tenderly felt around the cuts. When he looked at his fingertips, they were stained red. He groaned. 

He looked at his surroundings. It was dark with no walls in sight, but the floor around him was a light grey versus the pitch black around him. He pushed his fingers into his eyes and sat up to rest on his knees. “Can I fucking wake up now? I want to go home,” he muttered. 

When he opened his eyes, the black room had disappeared. It was replaced with the off-white and pale blue of a hospital, complete with steady beeping and the rustling of papery sheets beneath him. This time, he was relieved. 


	20. Chapter 16

It must have been early in the morning because there was very little activity outside his room and opaque sunlight filtering through the curtains on the large window. Verdo played with the loose strings on his gown and frowned. Cautiously, he peeked at his forearms again. He flinched at the first sight of blood and turned away, squeezing his eyes shut. His stomach lurched. He couldn’t believe how uncomfortable he was just looking at the injuries. 

He found himself wishing Felix was there. The room was too large, too empty with him alone in it with only his swirling thoughts, unstable emotions, and distant hospital noises to keep him company. Felix wouldn't react well to the name, he knew in his gut… but it felt right. Why? Could he even trust that this demon, that…  _ Brónach  _ was telling him the truth? Verdo probably wasn't his real name but at this point, he didn't have much of a choice. Rejecting it felt like the wrong decision.

But… he was Sean. Jack. That's what Felix had told him, who he was supposed to be, who he  _ really was. _ But for all he knew, Felix was a stranger, just as untrustworthy as a demon created by his own damaged mind. He  _ wanted  _ to trust them—they had kind eyes and they'd only ever tried to help him—but for some reason he just couldn't. Something just wasn't right. 

Verdo. Sean. Jack. Brónach. Felix. Names swirled around in his head, along with the sinking feeling in his stomach reminding him he was a lost, hopeless shell of a man in a hospital who didn't even know himself. A silhouette. A shadow, just like the demon. What if he never remembered? Where would he go when they released him?

_ Just let me wander the streets til I die, a good riddance to the world.  _ The intrusive thought overpowered any logic he could scrape up. He sunk further into his bed.

He couldn't go home with Felix. He didn't even know where they lived, and he couldn't bear to be such a nuisance. 

“Uuuuuuugh,” he groaned loudly. “What am I gonna  _ do?”  _

He decided to try his best to quit thinking and turned over to attempt to get some more sleep. He was not plagued by any more nightmares, or any dreams at all. When he woke, he saw a slumped figure at the end of his bed, glowing on one side from the vibrant sunlight streaming through the blinds. Felix. 

“Uh… good morning,” he offered and sat up against the head of the bed. “Felix?”

They stirred. “Wha-? Oh! Jack! Good morning. How did you sleep?” 

They were hopeful, Verdo could tell. Hoping he remembered something. He felt nauseous at the thought of having to disappoint them. 

“I slept… okay. These beds aren't exactly five-star material. When did you get here?”

“Like, twenty minutes ago or something. I was up all night, so I figured I'd catch a nap while I waited for you.” They shrugged. “Hope that was okay.”

Verdo nodded absently. “Mmm, yeah. It's fine.” They fell into silence for a few more minutes, broken when Felix stood up from the chair and walked over to stand beside Verdo. They looked down at him, concern hidden behind a mask of friendly optimism. 

“How are you doing?” Their hand moved forward as if to reach for something on his head, but stopped and retreated to their side. Verdo pushed a stray lock of hair back on his own. Felix seemed pained at the gesture and looked at the floor. 

Verdo cleared his throat, immediately regretting it as the raw flesh lit up in fire. “Uh… okay. I still don’t, you know… remember much.” He rubbed his neck and swallowed hard. 

Felix nodded. “Don’t worry. It’ll come. In the meantime, I’m your friend now, and I’m not leaving you alone, okay?” They dragged their gaze back to meet his and finally rested their hand on the sheets a few inches away from Verdo’s. He nodded in return, watching the two pale hands. Slowly, he edged toward Felix’s and curled his fingers around theirs, giving a little squeeze and smiling up at them. They smiled back, warmer than before. 

The two sat quietly, breathing together. Verdo felt at peace for the first time in as long as he could remember. Still, his throat was burning.

“Could you, uh… My throat’s kind of dry,” he murmured. 

“Oh! Yeah, totally. I’ll be right back.” They left the room in a hurry, but probably in just as much of a hurry to get back, Verdo could safely assume. A friend. He could really use a friend right about now. This felt right. 

The scars on his arms started acting up again. He grimaced and pressed his forearms to his chest in an attempt to quell the throbbing, itching cry for attention. A ringing in his ears began to replace the regular hospital sounds. 

Right. Brónach. It wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Why couldn’t it have waited until Felix wasn’t there? Who even knew if Felix could see Brónach? If they came back and saw Verdo crying and screaming at nothing, they’d leave for sure. He knew now he definitely didn’t want that to happen. He was going to cling to this one fortune he’d been given with his life. 

The buzzing increased and made his headache return. “Leave me alone!” he hissed as loudly as he dared, rocking in his bed. 

**_You will not be free until you understand._ **

“Understand what? I just want to go home!” A thoughtless cry, empty words, he knew, seeing as he didn’t know where  _ home  _ was at this point, but he wanted it badly. He glanced around the room and stared at the door for longer, dreading Felix’s return. Perhaps these attacks took place in a frozen state of time. But then again, why would Brónach be so kind? 

A glint of silver on the tableside caught his eye. His head whipped around and locked onto the tiny blade sitting neatly on the tray, a stark contrast against the white innocence. His skin itched and twitched and writhed. He wasn’t alone in his body. The demon was inside him, invading his mind, pushing him out and barely leaving any room for him to breathe. It was in his blood, in his bones, squeezing his heart and lungs. He was suffocating in his own flesh.

**_Come and get me._ **

Verdo whipped his arm out and gripped the blade, nicking his fingers. He brought it down to his eerily grey forearms, the first part of him available. (God, no, it was already infecting him. He was going to die and become  _ that.) _ He shook and sobbed and dug the blade into his skin, soaking in the bite and searching for the relief somewhere deep inside. 

“Get out! Get out!  _ Get out!”  _ he screamed. He’d made more cuts than he could count, shallow and small to a few deeper ones as he grew more and more desperate. He was blind with tears and pain. His skeleton felt loose and he was sure he was going to fall apart any moment. “Please! Please stop!” he begged.

He was about to begin freeing his chest when suddenly a hand gripped his wrist. (No!  _ No!  _ It was here! He didn't want to die. He wasn't ready.) He panicked and clawed frantically at the hand, spitting and hissing any insults or pleads his shot mind could come up with. “Shit shit shit fuck—no!  _ No!  _ Get away from me!”

The blade was taken from his hands and he could feel his blood boiling and his body rotting away slowly beneath his greying skin. Brónach had won. He slumped over in defeat just as a pinch in his arm made him flinch. As his consciousness faded, he begged whatever universe was listening to spare Felix, or any of these friends he had, any pain. 


	21. Chapter 17

Something was off when Verdo woke up. Something rough rubbed against his wrists and ankles, and his skin prickled with goosebumpsーhe was cold. Had the blankets been taken away? What happened? He opened his eyes and saw binds around his limbs, and that the blankets had in fact disappeared. The thin gown did nothing to warm his pale skin. 

He was not alone, either. It wasn’t Felix, or Brónach, but a new stranger in a security uniform who stood aloof at the door. 

Verdo decided to evaluate his situation before interacting. He was bound and could see no easy way of getting out of it. His arms were covered in slashes and his fingers were stained with bloodーhis own, he assumed. His memory was fuzzy and he couldn’t gauge if a night had passed or if this was just the afternoon of his last recollection. Then he noticed Felix’s jacket draped over the back of a chair across the room and a duffel bag on the seat. That meant they were still here. (Or had they come back?) 

He sighed and pulled at the cuffs. The security guard turned around and came toward him. 

“Hey,” she greeted him. Her voice was deep and smooth. “Good to see you’re awake. I’m Joyce. I’m here to watch you.” 

Verdo swallowed and cleared his throat as best he could. “Watch me?” he rasped.

Joyce nodded, glancing away as she tried to come up with an explanation. “Protection, you know? I’m just a security guard. Don’t worry.” 

“Can you keep me safe from him?” The words slipped out before he could think. He wished someone would keep this demon away. At this rate, it was likely he wouldn’t survive many more encounters, especially if Brónach could influence him to hurt himself.

Joyce’s eyebrows furrowed. “Him?” She stiffened her stance. “Sir, is your visitor causing you problems?” 

“Felix? What? No!” he spluttered. The cuffs clanged against the metal poles of the bed as he tried to sit up. “Felix is… fine. They’re great. I just meant…” He sighed and shrunk in on himself. “Nevermind. Thank you.”

Joyce didn’t look satisfied with his response, but she took it. “Of course. If there’s anything I can do, just let me know.” She turned to head back to the doorway when Verdo jerked forward. 

“Wait! Can youーcould you take these cuffs off please?” He rattled them and held his wrists forward. 

He received pursed lips and a nervous step backward. “Er, I’m sorry, sir. I can’t do that. When the doctor comes back, I’m sure you’ll get a better explanation. Is there anything else I could do for you?” 

“Could I have some water? And what time is it? And please don’t call me ‘sir’...” 

Joyce brightened at the barrage of questions. “Sure, I’ll get you some water. And,” she whipped out her watch to check the time, “it’s just past 9 in the morning. I was assigned at around 8. What would you like me to call you? Mr. Mcloughlin?” Verdo scowled and shook his head fervently. He may not have recognized the last name, he knew it was definitely not the right thing. “Uh…” Joyce leaned over to check the chart hanging off his bed. “Sean?” Again, Verdo shook his head. Those weren’t him. Not yet, anyway. 

He swallowed and hesitantly, softly suggested, “Verdo?” 

Joyce looked taken aback, but if it were a family nickname rather than a term given to him by a demon, she wouldn’t have known better. “Okay. Verdo. I’ll go get your water for you.” 

As soon as she left, Verdo saw a flicker of a shadowy figure behind the door. He glared and bared his teeth as if he could scare it away. He was done with whoever Brónach was. “Leave me alone.” The shadow responded with a flashing pointed grin before disappearing. Verdo sank back into the bed. 

_ Why did I do that? Felix is going to question it. They know me. Verdo isn’t my name, but neither is Sean. Or Jack. Or ‘Mr. Mcloughlin.’  _ He blew out a breath of air.  _ Whatever. Names don’t matter. They’re just words. I’ll figure this out later.  _

Joyce came back with a cup of water and returned to her post by the door. She turned on the tiny television mounted up on the wall across the room for him and he mindlessly watched random dramas with nearly muted volume. It was just good to have something else to have his focus. A shout from outside the door snapped his attention away from the TV, however, and Joyce popped out to investigate. It was Felix, he knew. He recognized the voice. (They had a distinct accent. European. Norwegian? Swedish? He didn’t know the area well enough.) 

“Let me in!” More nurse voices joined in the cacophony, but soon it calmed down and the blond was led into the room by Joyce. They ignored their jacket and bag to immediately run to Verdo’s side. “What did they do to you?” they cried. They were more upset about the restraints than even he was. They whipped around to Joyce. “Take these off him! He doesn’t deserve this!” 

Joyce looked truly apologetic. “I’m really sorry, sir. I can’t. The doctor will have to explain.” 

“Bullshit!” Felix balled their hands into fists and gestured angrily toward Verdo. “Take them off! He never attacked anybody on purpose!” 

At the swear, Joyce had hardened. She put her hands on her hips, the shape of a gun holster clearly visible and her badge in plain sight. “If you don’t calm down, sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, and I don’t think Verdo needs that right now.” 

Felix blinked. “V-Verdo? What?” They glanced back at him with a face full of confusion. “You’re not…” Their voice failed them. 

“I-I… I’m sorry,” he croaked. He tried to reach forward to grab Felix’s hands but was jerked back by the cuffs. He winced. “I know I’m supposed to be… Jack. Sean. I’m supposed to be your  _ friend.  _ But I just… I don’t know. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what I’m doing, what’s wrong with me, what that fucking demon wants…” 

“Demon?” Felix sat down on the bed and took Verdo’s hands in theirs. “Just talk to me. We’ll figure this out. What demon?” 

Verdo squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. Why did he mention Brónach? They were going to think he was crazy for sure. Still, he didn’t want to lie. “It… it gave me my name. It’s been hanging around for as long as I can remember. Just a figure. It looks like  _ me.  _ It’s not me, though. It’s trying to kill me. I-I think that’s why I was out there. I think it took my memories.” 

“Oh, god…” Felix gaped at him. They quickly shook their head and ran a hand through their hair, messing it further. Joyce stood silently behind them with a guarded expression. Verdo guessed she was prioritizing her job over making sense of his gibberish. “I don’t… Is there anything I can do?” They looked so helpless it broke Verdo’s heart.

He bit his lip and tried to ignore the numb feeling seeping through his muscles. “I don’t think so. At least, not right now. I just… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?” His voice grew quieter and he couldn’t look at them anymore. 

Felix squeezed his hand. Their voice came out soft. “You’re gonna be okay. They… they put you on suicide watch. They almost didn’t let me in here because of what you did earlier. They thought I brought a razor in for you.” They hesitated and took a shaky breath to calm themself. Verdo wondered if they were going to ask where he got the razor. (He didn’t even know.) Instead, they changed the topic. “Signe’s here. She’s waiting downstairs. Robin should arrive later tonight. I offered her a room at my place but she insisted on staying at homeーyour house.” Their eyes flickered to Verdo for a sign of recognition. They continued. “Robin might take up my offer. I haven’t heard back from him since his plane took off about an hour ago.” They sighed and squeezed his hand once before letting go and standing up. Joyce watched their movement carefully, but Felix just turned around to get his things. 

Verdo was thankful that they didn’t expect him to answer. He wasn’t sure how he was going to handle another person he didn’t remember. His girlfriend, but the sounds of it. They  _ lived  _ together. He hoped he didn’t break her heart. He hoped this didn’t destroy their relationship. She was probably nice. She didn’t deserve this.

“Here, I brought you some stuff; you’re definitely not going home anytime soon.” Felix set a bag by his bed. “Signe took me to your house and we got you some clothes and your toothbrush and stuff. She’s pretty pissed at me for making her stay downstairs.” They laughed and stuffed their hands in their pockets, rocking forward and back on their feet. “I dunno, I just figured it wasn’t the best idea to bombard you with unfamiliar people just yet. I’ll bring her up, though, if you’re ready.” He softened and looked down. “She’s really concerned. She misses you.” 

Verdo nodded. “Y-yeah. I’ll be fine. Thank you.” It was about time he stopped letting this demon take away his entire life, anyway. Maybe he’d remember her. Maybe. 


	22. Chapter 18

Signe was beautiful. Her hair was a mess, she was obviously stressed and tired from the looks of the dark circles under her eyes, and her clothing choices didn’t even match. But she was beautiful. Verdo could feel something in his chest assure him that  _ yes,  _ even if he couldn’t recall exactly who she was, he knew she was something right in his life. She made him smile from the inside out for the first time since he woke up.

“Hey, Sean,” she breathed as she came through the door. She put down her bag and left Felix’s side to stand just by the edge of the bed. Immediately, Verdo’s hand reached out to try to take hers but clanged to a stop just a few inches away. Signe smiled but her eyes welled up in tears. She reached down and intertwined their fingers. The feeling sent warmth through Verdo’s body. All he could think was  _ Finally.  _

They sat quietly for a few moments. Verdo closed his eyes and continued smiling. “Hey. How are you?”

She laughed. Verdo grew brighter. “I’m fine, Sean. It’s you I’m worried about.” She trailed her fingers over his arms and Verdo’s stomach sank as she reached the cuts. She was as gentle as a butterfly, but he could see the tears she was blinking away. “Why didn’t you call me?” she whispered, just barely audible. 

He couldn’t answer. He didn’t rememberー

Or did he? 

Something flashed through his mind’s eye. A broken mirror. Blood everywhere. Darkness. Pain.  _ Pain.  _ And that damned static laughter. 

He flinched and sat up as far as he could, looking around for Brónach. “If you hurt them, so help meー!” he cried blindly. 

“Sean!” Her voice cut through his mental noise. Her face was the only clear thing in the room. Everything spun and he swallowed hard, hyperventilating. Her hands were back in his, warm and good and safe. He locked his gaze to hers and tried his best to manage his breathing. “Breathe with me,” she said. “Come on. You can do it. You’re okay.” It was just them in the room, nobody else. He wasn’t a broken mystery, she wasn’t a stranger, and there was no demon lurking in the shadows. He was  _ okay.  _

“Yeah,” he wheezed. “Yeah, I-I’m…” He couldn’t decide on what to say so he just settled on smiling at her. The gesture soothed him, and Signe’s lips returning the reassurance only made things better. “I’m sorry.” 

She shook her head. “Don’t be. Is there anything you need?” 

He glanced at the cuffs, silver and cold, and up to Joyce standing behind his two friends. The smile faded to a pleading look. “Please. I-I won’t leave, and I won’t hurt them.” 

Joyce looked pained, but he could tell she didn’t want to impede his healing. A glare from Felix only sent her rolling her eyes and reaching to her belt with a sigh. “Fine. But only when I’m in the room. It’s not my decision to make, but I can watch you with or without these damned things.” 

As soon as he was free, Verdo leapt up and wrapped his arms around Signe’s shoulders. She seemed surprised at first, but quickly melted into the embrace and fell on top of him with a laugh. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in the scent that bounced around in his brain, searching for its place. 

“Oh, Sean. What happened to you?” 

The question dulled his wave of joy. He let her go and she moved to sit beside him, keeping their hands interlocked. Her eyes were only kind, so he mustered up the courage to admit what he knewーor rather, what he didn’t. 

“I-I don’t know. Signe… I can’t remember anything. I don’t really remember  _ you.  _ I’m sorry.” She didn’t take her hands back from his grasp. She didn’t start crying, nor did she start yelling like Felix. She just looked… understanding. How was she she not upset? He was apparently her  _ boyfriend _ and he didn’t remember her! 

“That’s okay, I promise. We’ll work through this. Felix told me you weren’t exactly… yourself. But the doctors apparently don’t have any explanation, huh?” 

Verdo shook his head. “Are you…? Are you okay with this? With me not recognizing you?”

She laughed a little and wiped at her eyes, bobbing her head. “Of course. It’s not your fault. I’m sure you’ll get better soon, and Felix and I are going to be here for you the whole time. We’re not leaving you. You won’t have to be alone again.” Her voice wavered as she drew her promise to a close and Verdo squeezed her hand. She squeezed back. “Oh!” She waved her free hand and looked back to Felix. “Robin’s gonna be here soon, too. He can stay with usーwith me.” A pause. “At home.”

Felix stepped forward to give Verdo a thumbs up. “Yeah! I’m not far. It looks like they’ve got you covered, I guess, so I’ll head back to my house.” 

Signe suddenly facepalmed herself. “Oh, shit, Felix. I’m sorry! You can stay with us, if you’d like. Our apartment is always welcome.” 

Felix shook their head. “Nah, you don’t have enough space anyway. I’ll be fine. Thanks.” They to Verdo with a sad smile. “I’ve done what I can for Jackaboy here. I trust him in the hands of you goofs.” 

The afternoon melted into casual conversations, how they were doing, what Signe had done while visiting family, the latest YouTube news, and eventually what Felix knew from the doctors. Verdo dozed and let them talk for him. His eyelids grew heavy and he kept his attention happily on the warmth of Signe’s hand holding his. He ignored the creeping darkness and told himself he was alone in his head, just like it should be, but safely not alone in his room. He had friends. They would keep him safe. 

Mental demons were another issue entirely.


	23. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the slow updates; i've been feeling like i wanna die lmao so i haven't been able to write much. hope you're still enjoying!

When Verdo reawoke, Felix was gone, he was still free of the cuffs, and Signe was lying at the end of his bed with her arm reaching around his hips to hold his hand. For the first time in a long time, he felt at peace. He wasn’t woken up by nightmares, and he didn’t immediately fall into a state of restless suspicion of everything, or blatant confusion. Signe was there, he was safeーsafe enough, at least, and not on his own anymoreーand he could have faith that he might eventually heal. She gave him hope.

The peace was shattered when he noticed a small kitchen knife on the side table.

Brónach was there. It stood by the window, a dark silhouette with just a sharp, toothy smile and green eyes glinting in the darkness. Verdo’s chest was heavy and he stretched out to try to reach the knife. Maybe he could use it for protection. Was the demon solid enough to land a blow, or would it just turn on him and make it look like he’d hurt himself again? He’d be put back in cuffs again for sure.

Where was Joyce? There was no noise. They were in a void. Even Signe’s body seemed just a shell with no one inside, weighing him down so he couldn’t get out of the bed.

Verdo cried. He sobbed and held the knife shakily out in front of him. Brónach hadn’t moved, still grinning at him from a distance.

_“Please,”_ Verdo begged, “just leave me alone! Get out of my life!”

Brónach laughed, bringing a sharp headache. **_“How can I when I’m a just as much a part of you as your sick little brain?”_ **

It dashed forward and grabbed the knife to push it with more force than Verdo could match toward his throat. It hovered there, less than an inch away from his quick pulse. **_“Are you ready to admit what you are?”_ **

“What are _you?”_ Verdo struggled, but his efforts only made the blade waver closer to his throat and Brónach smiled wider.

**_“You aren’t_ ** **that** **_stupid. Really.”_ ** It seemed exasperated. **_“I’ve given you enough hints already. Come on, Jackaboy! Use that big brain of yours before it rots right out your ears!”_ ** It giggled, a shrill, piercing sound that caused Verdo to cry out in agony.

“Stop it! Stop it, please!”

Brónach rolled its irradiated eyes and grabbed his hand, brought it up to his face so he could see as it dug the blade into his palm. His screams only encouraged the demon. **_“You see that? You’re just like me.”_ ** Verdo looked with horror as his skin turned grey and his blood was so dark it seemed black. Brónach squeezed his hand so the blood oozed out and Verdo could only shake and whimper.

“I-I’m sick,” he choked out. “We’re sick. I get it. Please, just let me go.”

**_“Hmm…”_ ** Brónach tapped its chin with the knife, still shining with Verdo’s blood. **_“You’re getting there! How about I give you to the count of three and you give up, yeah?”_ **

“Whaー? No!”

**_“Ơ̦̏̀̏ͬn͈̬͍̞̼̭̰͌̐̏ͯe̠̰̩̩͗̽…”_**

Brónach snatched up Verdo’s wrist and gripped it tightly, its nails digging into his greying skin. The grey was spreading up his arms. _Slash._ Brónach left a bright reddish-black streak on his forearm.

Verdo struggled feebly, but his left arm, still stretched out with Signe’s hand clasped, was as good as a sculpture of the limb. In fact, his whole left side was numb while his right was lit up in pain.

**_“  
T͔̬̙̩̱͊̑ͪ̔́͢w̴̷ͭ̉́ͭ͂̓̉̈́҉̖̥͖̖͕o̟͔̲̫̯̮̳̾ͮ̒̚͞…” _**

_Slash._ He cried and went limp as his flesh became the canvas for the demon’s twisted mission to get him to understand something he wasn’t sure he ever would. Brónach only seemed to get angrier, flashes of glitches and other distortions of reality flickered around it and its eyes glowed brighter and harsher. The knife left his arm and was pressed against his throat and the slightly serrated edge pricked his vulnerable skin.

He couldn’t see. He couldn’t breathe. As a last effort, he gasped out, _“Fine!”_

Brónach paused, but drops of blood still trickled down Verdo’s neck. It cocked its head, jerking like a machine and grinning like a cat. **_“Hmm? What do we have here?”_ **

“T-Tell me wh-what y-you want… and I’ll d-decide if I’ll agree.”

Brónach threw its head back and let out a cackling laugh. **_“You’re not in much of a position to make such demands. Still… this is an interesting turn of events.”_ ** It flashed yet another wicked crescent of teeth like daggers. **_“What do I want?”_ ** It tutted with a disappointed frown. **_“I really had hoped you would have gotten it by now, but I guess it isn’t much fun playing with a mouse that won’t even put up a decent fight.”_ ** It leaned in and pressed the knife harder. Verdo coughed, but that only dug the knife deeper and tears continued leaking out of his eyes.

“Please,” he rasped. He just wanted this to be over. He glanced at Signe, lying innocently behind the demon. He wanted to return to her, to himself. He didn’t really want the same as the demon, but right now that was going to have to be enough. "Don't hurt her."

**_“Deal.”_ **

The knife whipped by. There was blinding, white-hot pain, and then everything faded into nothing.

Except, Brónach was still there. Its skin glowed a septic green and its eyes were verdant fire.

It held him by the throat, dangling above a void. **_“What do I want?”_ ** it seethed. **_“I want you to admit I’m real. Admit you’re not fucking perfect. You’re not immune to me,_ ** **Jack,”** it spat the word with hatred, **_“and it’s about time you realized it.”_ **

It dropped him and he crumpled, unable to get up, move, speak. He only lay on his back, staring up at the only source of light with his mouth gaping wide. His throat was slashed, he knew. He was dead. He had to be. He’d failed.

**_“What am I? I am you. I am your darkness. I am your insecurities. I am your flaws. You’re sick, Jackaboy. Sick in the head. You put on a face, a merry little mask, and pretend you’re infinitely_** **happy.”** It snorted and leaned over the crumpled body. **_“Happy. You haven’t truly been happy in a long time, have you? But you pretend. Oh, you cheat us all. You shut me out._** **Who am I?”** It bellowed, shaking the ground. It grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him up again, screaming. **_“I am the truth! And if you’re going to live a lie, then you deserve to die. This is your last chance. Believe. Believe your flaws. Let them in.”_**

Still, he was limp. When the demon dropped him, he just kept falling. He opened his mind and soaked in all the doubts, the failures, the hate. They boiled his blood and filled him with a fire he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He was nothing, and he was everything.


	24. Chapter 20

His consciousness was free, tumbling around in an open space. A sense of time slipped through the cracks and he knew nothing other than the drifting silence. He was not confused. He simply existed, and he existed in peace. Whatever was left of him had decided to prioritize the simple facts: he was nowhere, and he was dead. He had to be dead. What else could this be? Nothing stirred the darkness and everything around him remained empty. He didn’t even have a body. His mind was quiet and he didn’t have to breathe. 

Then something shifted. A sliver bright light pierced the space and everything shook. His body returned, stale air rushed into his lungs painfully, and he could  _ feel.  _ He felt everything. He was in pain and everything was too loud, too bright. Someone was crying. Someone else was yelling. A jolt of energy convulsed his body and his eyes shot open. 

He gulped in more air only to immediately begin screaming. The sound came out strangled and gurling and it  _ hurt. _

Everything was  _ wrong wrong wrong.  _ He was gone. He wasn’t supposed to be here. It was all wrong. He was wrong. 

Hands clamped all over him, cold metal dug into his skin, harsh cloth itched, and voices filled his ears. His world spun. He couldn’t find a foothold to stand on for even a second. He could feel himself crying, begging.  _ Please. Please, just let me go. I did what you wanted. Why are you doing this to me?  _ He thought this was over. He was supposed to be  _ dead.  _

There was a sharp pinch somewhere and his pounding heart slowly began to fall to a less panicked rate. His vision was no longer black; he could see colors, blurry shapes as they whipped around and wouldn’t stay still. Nausea bubbled up inside him and he wanted off this ride. 

He squeezed his eyes shut. He had to wait this out. He could make it. If he wasn’t even allowed to die, then… Then what? He didn’t know who he was. He had nowhere to go. (Why would his girlfriend take him back if he didn’t even remember her? They may as well not have been in a relationship anymore.) If he wasn’t allowed to  _ die,  _ that just meant he would be tormented forever by his demons. God, as soon as he got out of this haze he had to find something. He’d have to take matters into his own hands and get this over with.

As he sunk into himself to wait it out, a soft voice floated through the chaos. An accent lilted the soothing words, asking him to come back.  _ “Sean. It’s me. You’re safe. You’re gonna be okay. Please, Sean. Come back to me. I love you.”  _

Despite his efforts to block it out, the voice was warm and gentle, the first kindness in too long. It flowed like honey and covered his broken, bleeding heart, seeping in and filling the cracks. He could breathe again. 

He opened his eyes and was met with wide green eyes, pinched in worry but overflowing with love. He started crying again. Suddenly, he could feel his limbs and he tried with all his might to wrap his arms around this person who gave him hope. He only managed a weak rise and fall of his arms and fell back against the hospital bed, shuddering with sobs. 

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay.” The figure leaned into him and covered his hands with their own. He was okay? With them here, he was. He could trust them. 

More voices took over the room and everything burst back into motion. Too fast, too loud, too bright. The green eyes were taken from him and he clasped his hands together, squeezing tight, and kept them at his chest as if he could hold the warmth inside and heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “St. Patrick” by PVRIS totally fits the septiishu in this fic tbh


	25. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jack reblogged my post ranting about Anti last week and i'm still Not Okay 
> 
> also: good news!! i've finally finished writing this thing!! the last chapter is extra long for a special treat (*cough* more like i had a million things to wrap up) and there will be an epilogue ;)

He slipped in and out of consciousness as the dayーor whatever this wasーwent on. The pain came and went, but finally he was left swathed in cool air and quiet. Something poked him in the arm, there were sticky things on his chest, something in his throat, and he could hear beeping from every angle, but he was finally left in peace with a clearer head. Unfortunately, this also meant he had to process what had happened.

What _did_ happen? God, he was tired of not knowing anything. He struggled to recall any details. He knew two things for sure: he had a demon plaguing him, and he had two people he could trust, Felix and Signe. Signe was… something else. He wanted to listen to her all day. If she would tell him who he was, maybe he would remember. He also knew he was attacked by this demon, but it was probably just his own mind. (Did that make it more or less terrifying?)

He wanted to sleep, but he was sick of sleeping. He wanted Signe here.

The clock ticked away and he decided on two things; he was not going to listen to his demon anymore, and he was going to do his damnest to get better. He would make Signe, and Felix, and everyone else who cared about him proud. (Because he was a _normal human being_ and people _liked_ him.)

By the time a nurse arrived in his room to check up on him, he had drifted off into some numb state and kept looking at his scars. He examined his state alongside her; he had a tube in his throat, and a thick cloth around his neck, and he could swear his hair had been cut. He couldn’t speak, but the nurse let him have a pen and pad of paper so he could semi-effectively communicate despite his fragile, shaky hands. He asked for the itchy cloth around his neck to be removed, but his request was refused. He asked for a glass of water, but was told to wait for the doctor to give him the details on what he was allowed to do. He asked for his friends but the nurse didn’t know anything. Soon he was left alone again. (The small, pitying smile the nurse threw his way before leaving did not go unnoticed. Oh, how he wanted to get out and back to normal.)

The doctor came inーa different one than beforeーand fought to keep his attention. Everything seemed to weigh five times more than it should have, including his own eyelids. However, the doctor did her best and squeezed his hand whenever she needed, sometimes digging her nails in if necessary. He was grateful.

“You are to stay in this bed and keep warm. Your hair has been cut short to keep your head cool to help with the process of recovery. Your nutrition will come through your IV and the tube to your stomach. Don’t worry, your injury wasn’t too severe. We’ll remove it in a number of days. Your larynx and pharynx were not severed, only damaged. Your voice may be affected. We won’t know for sure until you’re further along in recovery. Just be gentle with yourself, Mr. McLoughlin.”

Her name was Dr. Samantha Thimosy. She was kind with eyes as soft as her touch. He craved to be able to shout he was sorry, that he didn’t want to do this. He wanted to beg for Signe to come back and tell him it was all just a dream and he was who everyone said he was. His mind was too empty, filled with echoes that fell just short of being coherent enough to remind him of the truth. He was steps away from knowledge, unable to reach, no matter how he stretched and strained his broken fingertips.

This was the right path, though, he knew. He reached for his pen and paper and asked Dr. Thimosy if she had heard from his friends.

“No, I’m afraid not. However, they have been very adamant about coming here, especially that bright blond one. I’m sure they’ll return in no time.”

He thanked her and settled back into his bed. He trailed a finger gingerly across the cloth that covered his injury. What was it that Signe called him? Sean? That was who he was. He was Sean McLoughlin, he decided, pressing his lips together firmly. Signe was someone he knew he could trust, even if he didn’t truly remember her yet; his instincts so firmly screamed at him _Her! Yes, her! She is good! Stay with her!_ It would be stupid to ignore that.

Still, he couldn’t help but wish to have someone else reaffirm it. Now more than ever, he wished he could remember his own life. What did he do? Felix said he filmed videos. Was he a director? What kind of videos? They’d said… games. He played games as a job? Damn. He sure scored. What was his house like? What did he do in his spare time? What was his relationship like? _Oh God_ was he married? He quickly scanned his left hand, but found nothing. He looked around the room just in case, but saw no ring. Right. Okay. Felix _had_ said girlfriend, not wife. (He could check Signe’s hand later for a final assurance.)

He spent ages imagining what his life was like. Then his mind wandered down to Brónach. How did it appear? _Why?_ If this injury and event was as bad as this, he couldn’t imagine how bad some other incident must have been for his mind to create Brónach. Was he _really_ depressed, or was that all Brónach’s doing? Signe hadn’t known about any depressed tendencies, so he could safely assume this was new, which indicated Brónach likely had something to do with itーit probably had the most to do with it. He really wished he could bring this demon out and punch it in the face.

For now, he was stuck. He shifted to get more comfortable in the bed, as much as he could. He eyed the clock and took note of the time. 10:30 am. Signe or Felix would wake him if they came in. He would rest. He was on the right path, and with their help, something was sure to get solved. He just had to have faith and optimism.


	26. Chapter 22

For whatever reason, Joyce didn’t return. He didn’t assume that meant he was off suicide watch, though. He was on his best behavior. If any mysterious weapons appeared, he would  _ not  _ take them, demon be damned. If Brónach was depression incarnate, no matter where he got it from, he would treat it just like anyone else. If that meant therapy, so be it. If that meant medication, so be it. He would get this fucking leech off him if it was the last thing he did. (Which, frankly, it seemed to be trying to be that.) 

Felix came back first, as usual. Their face when they saw the condition he was in was forever seared into his mind. They were looking worse than before; their hair was a wreck with dark roots pushing through the bleached pile, their shirt was wrinkled and faded and their pants were barely hanging onto their hips. Their skin was paler than normal and the dark circles under their eyes looked darker than their own pupils. They carried themself as if their bones weighed a hundred pounds.

“Fuck…” 

He wanted to give a sarcastic “No thanks” but the best he could do was hold the pad of paper up to demonstrate his limitation. Felix nodded, “Of course,” and hurried to pull a chair up and sit down next to the bed. 

“How are you doing, buddy?” They pushed their hair back out of their face and tried to straighten their shirt. 

_ Good enough,  _ he wrote. Felix chuckled. They reached out and played with his skeletal fingers idly. 

“You, uh… They say you tried to kill yourself.” They huffed and took their hand back, folding it under their arms and looking to the floor. “I guess it wasn’t such a bad idea to have you on… on watch.”

_ I didn’t really,  _ he quickly wrote as his mind whirred. How could he describe what he was going through without being thrown into a cell and poked with needles until he was “cured”?  _ It was the demon I told you about.  _

That response didn’t please Felix. “What do you mean by ‘demon’? I want to get you out of here just as much as anyone, but if you’re… if you’re seeing fucking demons or something, then I-I don’t know. That’s not exactly… healthy.” 

He couldn’t even sigh, so he threw his best pout at his friend.  _ A mental demon. It said I’m sick. I guess that means I have depression. _

They looked relieved. “Oh, depression. W-we can deal with that. Yeah.” They sat up straighter and grasped his hand, holding it up between them and looking him in the eye firmly. “Jack… Sean… V-Verdo… I promise you’re gonna be okay.” 

He smiled and nodded as carefully as he could. He took his hand back to write,  _ Not Verdo anymore.  _ Felix lit up at that. 

“Oh! I-is ‘Jack’ okay then? I mean… your real name is Sean, and that’s what Signe likes to call you. But… I dunno, I’ve always liked Jack.” 

_ Jack.  _

Felix beamed. “Oh, hey! Robin got here last night. He and Signe are waiting for me to come get them. I just wanted to come up and check on you and get a feel for how you were doing. I’m surprised you’re notー” They suddenly stopped themself and hurried on. “Nevermind! It’s whenever you’re ready, Jackaboy.” 

_ Bring them in!  _

His heart had leapt at the mention of Signe. He couldn’t wait to see her ocean eyes and honey hair and sunshine smile again. The way she walked into the room was like the sun itself had come to Earth. He hardly knew what he was feeling, but he embraced it wholly. As for Robin, it would be yet another stranger walking through his door and asking him to remember himself. (Felix would prep Robin, though, wouldn’t they? So maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.) 

Felix seemed just as excited. They gave his hand a squeeze before darting out of the room to get the friends. He was left to gather his thoughts and stretch his writing hand. He flipped to a new page on the notepad just in case.

Signe was the first to enter. The lights glowed brighter and the weight off his chest seemed to lessen just a little when her smiling face looked at him. She removed her sunglasses and sat down on the bed right next to him and scooped up his hand in hers. She rubbed her thumb over his hand and whispered, “Hey.” 

He smiled as big as he could, which wasn’t much, but it was something. 

Felix came in with who he assumed was Robin in tow. Robin was shorter than Felix with buzzed brown hair that seemed just fuzzy enough, and laugh lines already creasing his eyes. He wore a loose, dark green T-shirt and jeans with rips in the knees, and he carried a small dark bag. He set the bag down on the floor beside his chair when he sat next to Felix just beyond the bed. 

He was torn between trying to be polite and greeting Robin, or turning his full attention to Signe like he wanted to. She  _ knew  _ him, he could tell just by looking at her. And she loved him. (Holy shit, he loved her. Was that a weird thing to realize when they were technically already in a relationship?) 

His gaze lingered on Signe and held her hand tight, but there was something urgent in Robin’s face that caught him. Waving the notepad served as his form of clearing his throat and starting the conversation. 

“Hey Jack,” Robin smiled. It only took him a second to register the notebook and silence from the green-haired patient and understand the situation. “Okay, cool. I, uh, I guess we have some things to talk about whenever you’re ready.” 

So, there  _ was _ something bothering Robin. He furrowed his brow at the statement and tried to quell the worry pooling in his stomach. He let go of Signe’s hand and wrote,  _ OK and hey.  _

Robin laughed a little. “Hey, buddy. How are you doing?” 

He pointed to the machines and the bandages and the notepad, giving a shrug.

“Good to see you haven’t lost your attitude. Though, your hair sure has faded.” 

The conversation started to flow a little bit easier. Felix briefed the two on the new details of his condition and Robin chattered about his new camera and Felix complained about the “stupid Irish weather” but they were all… happy. He felt like he belonged, finally. 

Then when the conversation lulled, Robin cleared his throat. “Hey, uh, Jack? Before all this, you were hanging out alone at your house for a while, kinda falling apart. You contacted me and we talked a little about what was happening. We had a… a theory of sorts.” 

Felix and Signe sat back and shared confused glances. “What do you mean, Robin?” Signe’s gaze fell softly back on the frail form in the bed. Her eyes said  _ Why didn’t you contact  _ me? He couldn’t look at her. 

“I-I just… What did the doctors say, anyway?” Robin digressed. “Do they have any sort of explanation? An idea as to what happened? What’s wrong with him?”

Felix shrugged. “Just what I told you before. He wasn’t even hypothermic, but he had cuts and he’s obviously having some sort of mental breakdown.” They looked to him with a heavy apologetic expression. 

Robin looked unsatisfied. He frowned deeply and got up from his chair to sit beside him on the bed. He placed his hand on his side and squeezed reassuringly. The frail figure smiled. Robin smiled back. “Jack?” he said carefully. “Do you remember Antisepticeye?” 

The words flew out of his mouth and burrowed their way into his brain. Suddenly, it was as if someone had punched all the air out of his lungs and he couldn’t breathe.  _ Antisepticeye. Antisepticeye. Antisepticeye.  _ The word repeated until it was hardly recognizable. Everything became blurry and his lungs burned and the only thing he could focus on was his screaming lungs and the hand he gripped in his own. 

_ Antisepticeye.  _ That’s who it was, but more importantly, that’s who he was. He was Jacksepticeye. These were his friends, his family, and the last month of his life had been taken from him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to drakojana for guessing the name/memories thing way back in Chapter 14 haha


	27. Chapter 23

When Jack came back to consciousness in his hospital room, Signe, Robin, and Felix were all gone, but their bags were still there. His head swam as he looked around the room for any sign to explain what had happened _this_ time. He remembered… everything. He remembered his YouTube channel, and his girlfriend, and his friends, and his name. He especially remembered the torture this demon had put him through the last few weeks. The night he was taken to the hospital was still foggy, and he doubted that would ever truly be clear.

When Robin asked about Antisepticeye, something clicked inside him. Unfortunately, something also fell apart. Anti probably attacked him, which meant _he_ probably attacked himself, or his friends. His heart sank at the thought. He didn’t know which would be worse.

He wasn’t restrained, however there were more bandages on his arms and a bed alarm. The tube was still in his throat, making it awkward to breathe. He was going to kill Anti for cutting his neck. For everything, really. The demon had nearly killed Jack, scared his friends, and ruined his consistency on YouTube. _That_ was an unspeakable crime.

While Jack fumed and imagined ways he could tear apart Anti like the characters in his games, a nurse came in to check on his condition, refilled some of his IVs and took his vitals, and reassured him his friends would come back soon.

When they did, they looked even more concerned than before, which he found hard to comprehend. He was getting better, wasn’t he?

He smiled and waved, silently mourning his lost voice. (That was his trademark! Besides the ability to talk on camera being one of the most important aspects of his YouTube channel, it was also _his thing!_ Anti was going to hell. Somehow.)

“Hey, bud!” Felix greeted him, plopping down on the bed. As usual, he made light of things. “I heard your memories are back, huh?”

Jack nodded and drew a happy little stick figure on his pad of paper. Felix laughed. Then he asked _What happened this time?_ He really hated not knowing what happened when he blacked out. Anything could be happening. His friends could be sugar-coating it for all he knew. God, what if he hurt them?

Felix rubbed the back of his neck and turned to Robin whose lips twitched up just a bit. Signe squeezed his hand and lifted it up to kiss his knuckles.

“Well… we, uh, don’t exactly have any physical evidence of… _him_.” Jack didn’t blame him for being afraid to say his name. Names had power, as he had come to know too well. “I mean, I believe you. We believe you.” Signe gave him another squeeze and Felix patted his leg affectionately, both agreeing. That loosened the knot in Jack’s chest just a little. “I don’t really know how anyone’s gonna explain what happened this past month. The doctors are saying you had a mental break, which seems awfully vague, but I guess… that’s what happened. Hallucinations, insomnia, high blood pressure, anxiety, unexplained outbursts, paranoia… isolating yourself…” Robin paused stiffly, then shook himself and finished. “There’s your textbook nervous breakdown.”

It sounded like he was reading straight out of an article. _I guess he did his research._ Jack didn’t know what to say. It sure sounded like that’s what happened to him, but he hadn’t cut his throatー _Anti_ did. He was sure of it.

He let go of Signe’s hand and grabbed his notepad again. _What about mystery blades?_ Those blades, including the knife, had not been there before Anti showed up. He had been locked to the bed, so he couldn’t have gotten up, stolen them, come back and used them, and then promptly forget everything.

Robin looked just as frustrated. “See, I don’t get that either. I almost want to ask for the security tapes or something. Maybe they saw something…” He trailed off in thought.

Felix sat up straight. “Yeah! I can totally figure out how to get those. Do Irish hospitals have tight security?”

“Felix!” Signe hit him with a scowl.

“What? I was kidding!”

Jack felt a laugh well up in his chest but quickly swallowed it down and opted for a smile instead. Then he wrote, _What did YOU GUYS see?_

“Uh… when?” Felix answered. Behind him, Robin stayed quiet and seemed to be lost in his own head.

_This last time. Or the throat incident. Whichever._

“Well, we weren’t here for the… attacks, I guess.” Felix frowned.

“Robin _did_ say this seemed kind of… unreal,” Signe said quietly. Robin was still staring at the wall, unresponsive. Felix nudged him. He jumped and turned to face the three guiltily. “Robin, didn’t you tell us you thought something sort of supernatural was going on?”

He wrung his hands and hesitated to answer. “I-I don’t think… Kind of? I mean it’s…” He sighed and shook himself. “All I know is Sean didn’t do this to himself, at least not all of it, and before he broke down, he and I talked about what was going on and it was Antisepticeye. That stupid internet alter-ego or something.” He started pacing and grew more and more agitated. “I don’t know how to prove it, but I didn’t edit Anti into the last videos and Jack said he didn’t either, and that knife appeared out of nowhere. So yeah. We were thinking Anti is basically a mental illness manifested into some physical form. Or he’s literally a demon we summoned by saying his name too many times.” He threw down his hand and groaned. “I wish I knew! I’m sorry, Jack. I’m so sorry.”

“Whoa, dude, it’s okay!” Felix jumped up and placed his hands on Robin’s shoulders. “ _Det är inte ert fel._ It’s not your fault. You did what you could. What happened is what happened. Let’s move on and just help Jack recover, okay?”

Jack sat numbly in the bed, watching his friends lose their minds just trying to help him. He wished he could talk now more than ever. For now, he wrote in thick letters, _IT’S OKAY ROBIN._ Robin saw the note and seemed to melt. He hugged Jack as tightly as he could, still whispering “I’m sorry” and then stepped back for Felix to yell “My turn!” and wrap both Signe and Jack in his embrace. Signe’s laugh tickled his ear and his chest welled with hope.

Whatever the truth was, he'd finally won something and all he wanted to do was sleep and recover so he could yell into a microphone and make people smile again. He was tired of worrying people, especially his friendsーhis family. Anti be damned, he would get back up and push on, just like he always did.


	28. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to the end :D thanks for reading! hope it's okay. comments are appreciated.

The next few weeks were full of a disgusting liquid diet, annoying checkups at ungodly hours, and devastating silence. Jack lived for the hours when Signe, Felix, or Robin could visit. Then, he could at least carry a conversation beyond, “How are you feeling?” and “No, you can’t do that yet,” and “Be patient, Mr. McLoughlin.” That was the worst. He hated being called by his last name, especially with a title before it. (Being called “The Best Youtuber” by many of his fans was bad enough.) No matter how many times he wrote _Jack_ on his notepad (and underlined it vehemently), he’d either end up with a new nurse and have to start over, or they’d just forget in the mix of all their other patients. He didn’t blame them. It was just _annoying._

Dr. Thimosy was a relief. She was kind and had enough patience to match Jack’s total lack of it ten times over. He constantly asked her how long she thought he had left and she always shook her head with a smile and said, “Soon enough, Sean. Just focus on getting better for now.”

It took far too long for his throat to heal enough for him to eat solid foods _(soft_ solid foods). He still couldn’t really speak in more than a hoarse whisper. He knew enough to not push it for fear of permanently damaging it. He refused to lose his voice completely. Learning sign language would have been _hard._

The hospital food was disgusting. It always was. It tasted dry and sour and it stuck to the roof of his mouth. Felix started sneaking in burritos for him until he was busted trying to sneak in a whole pizza. The nurses were easy, but Dr. Thimosy thoroughly chewed him out. After that, Felix swore to find the absolute best food they had to offer in the cafeteria. (“It’s so freakin’ fancy!” he said one day, coming back with sandwiches and smoothies in his hands. “What do they need a whole salad bar for?”)

Signe was there almost every day. If she couldn’t stay for long, she’d at least pop in to give him a kiss and tell him how well he was doing. She found the mess of the apartment and Jack felt nauseated with guilt. Of course, Signe shut him up and said it was no problem. The light in the bathroom was changed, the floors were picked up and hoovered, and the fridge was stocked again.

“I ordered a new mirror for the bathroom. It should arrive sometime next week.” Her face didn’t let on any worry and she didn’t even ask what happened. He figured she understood he didn’t really know much and wanted to put it behind them. But he couldn’t just let it go.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. She cradled his face in her hands and rolled her eyes at him.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. You didn’t do it on purpose. It’s _our_ house, and while you’re here to get better, I’ll clean up. That’s just how it works.” She leaned in close and pressed their foreheads together. He found her hand and intertwined their fingers and smiled up at her.

“You’re too good for me.” It was barely a whisper, but she heard it loud and clear. She kissed him and he let himself relax. Finally, she squeezed his hand and pulled away, promising to return with some trinkets from home. Though her absence was painfully noticeable, he survived by looking forward to being able to go home.

He was getting better, slowly but surely. He hadn’t had a real breakdown since the last one. Anti hadn’t shown up, no mystery blades had appeared, and he slept fitfully without dreams. His head felt the clearest it had in weeks.

Still, the fear of a surprise attack clung to him like a visceral shadow. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the prick of the knife against his throat and some mornings took a while longer to get up because he had to shake the cold stiffness in his bones. It was like his body was a corpse with rigor mortis setting in. _Come on, Jackaboy! Use that big brain of yours before it rots right out your ears!_ His chilling voice still echoed in his head. More than once, he woke in a cold sweat at some time before dawn with that cursed ringing in his ears. He’d sit up, dead still, and grip his blankets with white knuckles until he could control his breathing. In the morning, he’d do his best to forget about it and continue looking forward.

He cried a lot. In the beginning, it would be multiple times a day he’d find himself overcome with some feeling he couldn’t explain and break down in tears. Sometimes he’d curl in on himself and shy away from touch. Other times he’d lash out and scream at people to leave him alone. “Just let me die!” he cried. Then Signe or a nurse would come in and quietly assure him he was not dead, not dying, and that he was safe and healing. He really did forget sometimes. Those days it hurt to see his friends. He spent them alone, choking down more pitiful food or trying to catch some more sleep.

Now, he only cried every few days, and not usually more than once in the same day. Sometimes it was all just too much. However, Dr. Thimosy said it was good to cry, so he took it in stride.

 

He didn’t look at YouTube or Twitter or Instagram or Tumblr for almost two weeks. He had no doubt his channel was dead as fuck, but it was unsurprising his other medias were blown up with messages. People had started off just asking how he was feeling and commenting on his tired eyes and unkempt look in general. (He didn’t look at the videos he posted during that time. Not yet. He took their word for it and assumed he looked horrible.) Predictably, they had reacted positively when Anti’s glitches appeared. It was exciting! What idea did Jack have up his sleeve this time? Unfortunately, this didn’t have a conclusion and Jack had disappeared from social media without explanation. Then people started to worry. Hundreds of posts and messages and comments appeared everywhere asking for him to come back and explain. Some believed he’d just taken a break. Some theorizing posts got substantial notes. The theories ranged from a surprise unplug, to believing Anti had literally come alive and taken him away. He laughed at those, cried a little, and moved on.

He had to say something. What would he say? How much would he tell? Signe was no doubt getting bombarded with messages asking where her celebrity boyfriend was. Oh, how his dedication to consistency could really bite his ass sometimes. Robin was hardly safe from the questions as well. Jack hoped they would find a way to forgive him. For right now, he had no idea what to say to the millions of people watching for any sign that he was alive, let alone coming back to his regular routine of YouTube every day.

“Do you have any ideas?” he asked Signe. He clutched one of her shirts close to him. (She’d given it to him for comfort. Sheepishly, he quickly accepted it.)

She smiled softly at him and shook her head. “Not really. This is all just kind of… crazy.” She paused and licked her lips. “You know… you don’t _have_ to explain it. At least not all of it. You don’t owe it to anyone. Just come back and say, ‘Look, I’m back, and that’s all that matters.’ You said it yourself, personal lives need to be separate, and I think a mental breakdown counts as personal.”

It made sense, and he wanted to agree. Instead, he pouted. “But I gotta…” he whined. “How can I leave people with nothing? They saw what I looked like before… I was a wreck. They _know_ something’s up.” He sat up further in the bed and scratched his neck, blowing out a sigh. “They’re too smart for their own good sometimes, really.”

Signe laughed. “You’re such a stubborn arse.” She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Heyyy!” He giggled when she let him go. “I’m not _that_ stubborn.” He grinned and rested his fingers gingerly against his mouth and ignored the fact that he was turning red. _(How_ long had they been together? And he was _still_ doing this?) “I’m gonna say something. I’ll… I’ll keep it simple. I had to take care of my mental health. I don’t think I should mention Anti… they wouldn’t believe me. Hell, I barely believe me.” Signe frowned and fondly rubbed her thumb in a circle on his shoulder. “Yeah. I won’t make it seem like anything attacked me, because that would just cause more problems and a witch hunt probably.”

His Danish sweetheart was beyond helpful in his attempt to put together an explanation. He posted some short messages on each of his accounts to let people know he was alive and to expect something soon. With just a smartphone camera and a hospital bed, Signe filmed his explanation and promised to edit it for him back at home when she had a moment.

It took a lot for him to find a way to be comfortable on film. As much as he wanted to deny it, he was ashamed of what had happened. Anti or not, he’d fallen apart and hurt himself. His neck proved to be the biggest obstacle. He debated filming just his face, but that seemed too strange. Then he considered pooling the blankets around his shoulders, but that was off too. Finally, Signe brought in a beautiful yellow scarf and tucked it around his neck lovingly.

“You’re going to be okay,” she whispered as she lay curled up against his side with her head tucked into the crook of his neck. She stroked his arm and he clung to her. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I loved you then, and I love you now.” She truly was a blessing.

So Jack’s first appearance on camera since his disappearance was in a hospital bed with his girlfriend’s scarf around his neck and a raspy voice. It was short, but it got the job done. After that, Signe insisted he stay off social media to avoid stress. She even took his phone away when she was with him, and shut off her own. “You’re too much,” he told her, but he was smiling more than ever.

He assumed the community took the video well. Robin reported back with the best news, but Jack knew he was definitely filtering the results. His gratitude was endless.

 

They all couldn’t wait until Jack would be let out of the hospital. That day had been chock full of emotions. Within the first few steps into the now-clean apartment, Jack broke down crying. He clutched Signe’s scarf, covering his slowly healing gash that was still red and irritated underneath the gauze. He had to sit down and somehow the two ended up on the floor in each other’s arms with tears flowing freely down both their faces.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He still apologized way too much. Signe was ever-patient. “I-I just… God, I ca-can’t believe I-I’m home. And you’re h-here. You’re here too!” He reached for her face and smattered kisses all over her.

She laughed. “Yes! I’m here. I’m not going anywhere for a long time, Sean. I promise.”

She helped him up and he leaned on her as they wandered around the house. First the main room, then the kitchen, their bedroom, and down each hallway. And still, Signe was patient, even as he stopped dead in front of the door to the recording room and nearly started crying again. (He never used to cry this much, did he?) He closed his eyes. She opened the door for him. Slowly, she guided him through the doorway and into the room he’d fallen apart in so many times. His heart pounded and made his head dizzy as he waited for his ears to ring again, or to hear static laughter. When it didn’t come, he tentatively opened his eyes and fought to keep his breathing under control.

“How are you doing?” Signe breathed. She squeezed his arm lovingly.

Jack swallowed, then nodded. “Y-yeah. I just…” He trailed off. She knew.

As soon as he collected himself, he began making his way around the room starting from the right of the door and following the walls along so that he reached the bathroom last. He trailed his fingers on the walls and over his equipment, his chair, the wires, everything. He checked on his computerーstill bright blue and whirring as always. His monitors looked just the same as before, now sitting dark and waiting his return. His reflection in the glass glared with his obvious sapped strength. His clothes hung off him more than usual and his face had more shadows. His hair had grown back since the hospital cut it, though. He hadn’t redyed it green, so it was a combination of a faded lemony color and his natural brown roots. Like his healthy past was trying to push its way back in.

It was all just fine, really. Normal. Clean. Signe had done a good job. But he wasn’t finished.

There was still a hole in the floor where the knife had been. It was small, but Jack’s eyes were so drawn to it that it seemed a hundred times bigger. The carpet was frayed and the wood underneath had its own jagged cut. His stomach had dropped sometime before he even remembered to breathe.

“Oh… yeah, I noticed that. I don’t know what it is.” Signe’s voice seemed distant. Of course she didn’t know. Why would she? However, she wasn’t dull. “I, uh… I assume it’s not just a… random hole. Is it?”

Jack shook his head. He sat on his knees and circled his fingers around it, painfully cognizant of how it got there. “He… he stabbed the knife here,” he started softly. Though he heard a small intake of breath, Signe stayed silent. “I don’t really remember what was going on at the time, but he was probably threatening me again. Had me knocked out. He did that a lot.” He took a deep shaky breath and stood up. He gave a small smile and a firm smile to Signe, whose green eyes were filled with worry. “We can fix it sometime. Or cover it up somehow. Get a new carpet maybe? Or wood floors?” He snorted. “Okay, yeah, let’s leave the renovating for later.”

Only the bathroom remained. As if sensing its vicinity, the scars on his arms tingled and stung a little. He shook his arms out and squared his shoulders and took four clearing breaths. With his hand in Signe’s, he gripped the handle and opened the door.

The light was off, delaying his reaction. It didn’t stop his chest from seizing up or his grip on Signe’s hand to tighten, though. When it was on, he waited for the truckload of emotions to knock him off his feet.

They didn’t come.

Why didn’t they come? He’d nearly fallen apart at the door and at the hole in the floor. Why not _here?_ It was so anticlimactic, he would have laughed if he could feel something. Oh. He couldn’t feel anything. His fingertips were numb. Everything seemed so far away and he didn’t feel in control of his movements. What was happening? Oh god, was he hurting Signe?

She was saying his name. He hadn’t heard her, not really.

“Sean!” She shook him and he coughed, his ears clearing and everything coming back into focus. (Apparently he _had_ reacted.) “Sean, are you okay? What can I do?”

“Oh, Jesus, sorry Signe.” He coughed again and ran his hand through his hair. He clenched his fists and tried to calm himself. “I-I don’t… I thought I was fine. God. I’m sorry.”

She scowled at his apologies but let them go. If she tried to discourage him every time, she’d lose her voice by the end of the day. “Okay, um… do you want to come back another day?”

“No!” Signe jumped at his quick response. “No… I want to get this over with now. I just…”

He finally took a good look around the room; he breathed it in, pulling in every detail through every pore and letting the sight wash over him. The floor was clean. He couldn’t even see any stains. Maybe Signe had found that hydrogen peroxide after all. Most significantly, the mirror was gone like she said. (Looked like she hadn’t had the chance or motivation to put up the new one.) Even the shower curtain had been changed. Really, the whole thing was kind of underwhelming. There was hardly any trace of the events left, and even then, Jack could argue he was fabricating the strength because he _knew_ there was something missing. Signe had done such a good job.

Suddenly, he started laughing. Then he couldn’t stop. He ran out of breath and had to gasp in air as the laughter shook him. “O-oh god! I’m fi-fine! Ah!” He tried to explain, but it was too hard. He laughed and laughed, but she didn’t laugh with him. She held him. Soon, he realized he was crying. _(Really? Again?)_ She still held him. They stayed there on the bathroom floor until the sun had gone down, just breathing together. Eventually they started talking. He had to get it out, so he did. He told her everything he could remember. What Anti did, what happened in that room, what happened on the computer, and everywhere else. She only cried twice.

 

Therapy was inevitable. Of course it was. Even if this whole thing wasn’t blamed on a _mental breakdown,_ anyone could see the poor boy was severely shaken. He was embarrassingly nervous for his first session. Well, it had taken quite a few weeks to find and get an appointment with a suitable therapist. The first day, Jack walked in wearing a turtleneck and Signe’s scarf wrapped securely around his neck. (He wondered when, if ever, he’d be able to be in public without a covering. Maybe that was something they could work on in therapy. Right now, at least, the thought was horribly anxiety-inducing, so he pushed it away.) The therapist, Dr. Michael Mainemer, was nice. He had thick brown hair almost like Jack’s and he always wore a colorful scarf loosely draped over his shoulders. He was young, too, near Jack’s age. Signe stayed with him the first two sessions, but eventually he went in alone.

It was a lot of talking. He didn’t know where to begin, so Michael prompted him with questions. How did he feel? What did he like? What didn’t he like? What was his life like? Did he understand what therapy was meant to do for him? What would they be working on? And finally, of course, _what happened?_

The difference with Michael was that he didn’t ask Jack what he’d been _told_ happened; he didn’t even look into his medical records to find out himself. He wanted to know Jack’s story, no matter how “crazy” it seemed. (That word was either inappropriate here or the only accurate term. Jack couldn’t decide.) So that’s how he ended up listening for a whole hour to Jack attempt to explain both the concept of Antisepticeye and what he’d gone through. It was still foggy, he admitted, and the memory seemed to be slipping away piece by piece as the days went by.

“Do you think I’ll forget about it one day?”

Michael sat back in his chair and frowned. “No, I don’t think you’ll completely _forget_ about it, but I do think eventually you’ll reach a state of recovery in which you won’t have to think about it all the time.  It will stay in the back of your mind. Once in a while it’ll pop back up into your thoughts and you’ll acknowledge it, but hopefully we can get you to a point where it doesn’t majorly affect your daily life.”

Jack was pleased at that. Good. He wanted to move on, however long it took. (He did wish it would be sooner rather than later, though.)

“Do you think I’ll have… I have PTSD or something because of this?” Jack was nervous about asking.

Michael smiled with the corner of his mouth and shook his head. “PTSD is complex. I won’t say it only happens in cases of high trauma like war veterans or abuse survivors, because that’s not really true. It could happen to anyone. Everyone’s brain chemistry is different.”

“Yeah, of course.” Jack nodded. That made sense.

“However, I will say that I do not think you have PTSD from what I’ve gathered in our sessions.” He sat up straight and folded his hands in his lap, a bigger grin stretching on his face. “In fact, I’d say you’re speeding on down that recovery track quite well, Sean.”

Something warm settled in Jack’s stomach. He sat back and blinked, pausing to process what Michael had said. “Oh… thank you.” He looked up with pride swelling in his chest. “Thank you.”

 

They never did find out exactly what happened to Sean McLoughlin those nights alone in his house, in the snow, and in the hospital room. No one admitted to bringing in blades, and there was no evidence to explain how it had happened. The only evidence was the scars that littered his bodyーhis neck would take the longest to heal, but his arms were more pink now and there was only a tiny scar on his forehead, nearly invisibleーand the damage in their apartment floor.

And there were the recordings. No edited files, no silly footage of him goofing off with fake blood and plastic fangs. Only the finished product with his counter-character taunting the viewers with clips of Jack being yanked in different directions, screaming, staring into the camera with dead eyes, more cuts appearing and his composure generally disintegrating until he seemed more monster than human, and finally just a shell behind a camera. Empty. Broken. Somatically dead.

Against his usual notion, he deleted the videos from his channel and his computer. That didn’t remove them from the internet, of course, but at least it was an obvious statement of his feelings toward them. Maybe then people would leave them alone and stop asking. Occasionally, they’d pop up in his tag. (Though, he did get the Tumblr modifier XKit and blocked the keyword Antisepticeye for a while.) The community was known to download the videos and post clips. The Anti sequences were especially popular. “Raw” they called it. “Chilling.” “Scary.” “Talented.” “Amazing.” The worst part was the fact that he couldn’t explain why he opposed them without attempting to explain the whole mess. So he stayed quiet and ignored the penitent videos when he could.

He watched them once. A few weeks out of the hospital, he found himself up at some late hour, staring at the ceiling with Signe asleep beside him. Echoes of phrases he didn’t know if he or Anti had said swirled around his brain. Among those voices, there were comments and messages from the community regarding his return vlog and the deleted videos. They all _knew_ something was up. Understandably, they wanted answers. They wanted something he couldn’t give to them. What was it about those videos that were so intriguing? What kind of show did Anti put on to keep them hooked for so long? Something overtook Jack and he grabbed his phone, stuck in his headphones, and found the reposted copies to watch.

Signe woke up to him crying some time later. She took the phone from him and when he told her what he was doing, she took him by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes firmly. “There is nothing wrong with you. I believe you. It was real, and it hurt you. I know it’s hard not being able to explain, but I promise it will get better.” Her hard emerald eyes pierced the tension and fog and he collapsed in her arms. “I’m here. I’m here. I love you.” She held him close until they fell asleep.

 

Robin went back home a week after Jack got out of the hospital. He stayed with the couple in their apartment for the week and they enjoyed the rare opportunity. No videos, just easygoing time together. Felix visited a few times. That was always fun. They played games and cooked and went out to see a movie. Sometimes they just sat and talked until the world was dark and they could barely form coherent sentences. It was all just relaxed fun for them all. And recovery with vast amounts of support and patience. Honestly, Jack was extremely overwhelmed with gratitude.

Slowly, things went back to normal. It didn’t take long for him to start making videos again. He mostly played fun games. No horror. Not for a while, at least. It broke his heart to have to change so much “just because my stupid brain decided to conk out.” But he got through it. They all did.


	29. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's never really over, is it...?

Some nights, he still heard the noises. The static would start fading in and his head would spin and he would stop what he was doing to stand up in a panic and look for any sign of the demon. He didn’t say his name anymore, but that didn’t seem to matter. He was there to stay.

One night, he was up late recording a gameplay when it felt like his skull was splitting. He keeled over and gritted his teeth.

_“No!”_ he screamed. “I won’t let you take me again!”

Laughter taunted him from the shadows and the corners of his mind. The computer began to glitch and the game crashed. Quickly, he shut off his equipment, unplugged the computer, and tucked himself in a ball under the desk. “No, no, no,” he repeated to himself quietly. He counted his breathing and refused to descend into a full-on panic attack. Signe was asleep and he was not about to disturb her if he could help it.

The piercing ringing wouldn’t stop. His scars tingled and flashes of blood and blades and other horrors flashed across his vision. He couldn’t tell if he was hallucinating or remembering. He stuck his head between his knees and squeezed his eyes shut. “Go away. There’s nothing here for you. I’m done with you. Go away.”

There was no voice accompanying the noises and distortions. Only silence. It weighed him down until he lost count of his breathing and focused only on the tears running down his cheeks and his nails digging into his calves. He could feel it. He was not alone. He probably never would be truly alone. That didn’t matter. It couldn’t. As long as the demon kept his promise, Jack would go on.

So he endured.

Eventually, his head cleared and he crawled out from under the desk. Shaken and still trembling, he gave up on the recording and concentrated on getting to Signe. But when he plugged the computer back in and turned it on, the normal start screen didn’t appear. Instead, in tiny, faded letters in the center of the black screen, a message appeared.

_ALWAYS WATCHING._

Then the screen flashed an image almost too quick to see. But he saw. It seared itself into his mind.

The demon’s faceー _his_ faceーgrinned at him with dead eyes, sharp teeth, and slashed skin. Anti was not leaving. That much was obvious. It seemed he didn’t want Jack dead anymore. No, he’d tried that and failed. Instead, he would stick around and make the creator’s life a living hell. Chaos was his weapon of choice, and some men just want to watch the world burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!!! comments are appreciated. if you have any ideas, throw 'em at me. love you guys! [x](http://glorygreatestjackaboy.tumblr.com/post/160598237010/therealjacksepticeye-glorygreatestjackaboy)


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